Temper by Paul Point

Temper seethed through

the Blacksmiths teeth

..

gritting their edge

to growl, to breathe.

Dark, in thought, raised

a sword from below

..

water drops glisten

caught a white hot glow.

..

Blade emerged from steel

for a matching shield,

it was his way to vent

feelings that were pent

..

and bent shards of metals

like wind might petals.

..

Blotting his brow across

a beaded wet gloss,

working and working

for hour after hour –

..

His temper forged forms

of protection and power.