A devil is blacksmithing down below,
hammering agonies into my foot,
laughing as he works hard, blow after blow,
while embers flare and he heaps the sloughed soot
of an unthinking life I once knew well
in ingratitude and a thankless peace,
but now, in this Hephaestus pit of Hell,
flesh is enfolded in pain without cease.
Hammer, clamps, tongs, furnace and the anvil,
clutching and smashing with Vulcan focus
to forge the leg to a fallen god’s will—
a monument of pain, aching locus
whereat there spirals the spiteful fire
that brands the soul with the maker’s design,
scarring mortal flesh, his single desire
to make what is like himself: pained, divine.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s