A Hammer
A silencer with no use of silence.
A lending hand but also a lethal hand.
Better to speak of this than to use one.
Thin, yet hefty.
It strikes against the lumber that leans over crookedly,
Knock, knock, knocking it with pointy metal fangs.
Like a beaver hacking cottonwood with nerves of steel.
Such praise for the frames and shapes revealed
By this woody joystick with a halo-like face.
Such distress for the breaks and escapes concealed
By this back-breaking shaft with a mort bell for a head.
Clattering, blasting, booming.
All deafening, and no shame.
You'll notice as you say its name.
It clangs eerily without appearing eerily.
Like chipmunks chirping away a nabbing hawk.
For this steel knight to be a savior and an iron fist,
Is to build and to break.
Better to wield one, but abuse none.
YOU ARE READING
Whisperings Beneath It's Surface
PoetryAccounts of hauntingly genuine poems based upon my memories, dreams, nightmares, and imagination. Nothing is trivial in this world. For everything blossoms meaning. All it takes is to observe something, and it may whisper to you below its surface.
