Staving off Disaster

I grasp the blade in tendrils of intent,
it flickers like torch-light as it dances ancient rhythms in the wood,
leaving mirrors of truth's expanse in the material of man's origins.

I pour my life into the grooves, an offering of necessity, a shining grace
seeking that which lies within, without, and through all that is
that has been, or may enjoy the privilege to be.

The definition clear, the glow of
years of love, hate, pain, extacy, rage, and
solemn oaths
grows strong.

It is planted as the seed, to soak in the might until it
creeps up from its deep home to grace the world of man—

In this craft am I defined,
yet I wield the blade, my steel claw
and carve the mask
and the tale it tells
to those whose eyes cannot bear my gaze,
including, in previous days,
my own.

Erich Campbell

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