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vorpal.

Stamped: 24.8.08

the blacksmith lights the kindle.
the flame grows and does not dwindle.
the coals black as silence are lapped
by the tongues of flame but do not adapt.
the devil's chamber glows golden
thanks to the coals, to whom he's beholden.
in he sticks an iron rod--
he is forging a blade to slay his god.
swinging the hammer and fanning the flame
his strikes are true, as is his aim.
soon, his blade ready, he calls it a day;
the coals glow brightest before they turn grey.

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