This poem is the first John R. Yaws poem I have posted outside his "Traveler's Tales" series. I am quite impressed with the flow of the poem, its rhythm and rhyme and the very vivid image it creates. (One can almost derive a passion for the sword just reading it!) - poetheart 07/30/01
Mirror polished cutting edge-
Pure Damascus steel...
Balanced like a living thing
To the warrior's feel.
Wrought for just one purpose
To take a human life-
Forged in flame, and tempered, too
A sword! a fighting knife!
Hilt of brass to stop the blade
Protect the warrior's grip-
Sharkskin molded to the hilt
So grasp's will never slip.
Epitome of cutler's art-
It bears the Sheffield name-
The process of it's forming?
Why, it was forged in flame!
I'm told that I'm a hard, hard man-
And hard to be entreated-
And prone to deal to others
The measure I am meted.
Callused? that's another word-
That's often been applied;
I'm told I have a heart of stone
That my emotions died...
I learned within the forge of life
Of misery and shame-
And like that sword, I guess that
I Am also forged in flame.
Softness found and then removed
By trials through out the years-
A heart which flamed with passion
Was quenched in briny tears.
I guess to start, you'd say my heart
And sword were much the same-
Tempered by the battle's heat
We both were forged in flame!
© 1999 by John R. Yaws
Other poetry by John