A free-verse poem about dwelling upon some perceived slight. |
Her friend did something that annoyed her, some act she took as an unkind slight. It was painful, somewhat akin to a small dagger in her back. The more she dwelled upon her friend’s action, the hotter grew her anger, until hot enough it glowed red like a blacksmith’s forge filling her inside. Time and again as her anger stoked that forge, she unwittingly heated a new piece of steel to red-hot. Then she pounded the heated metal to meld it with the dagger she had removed from her back, thus making the blade she always carried with her ever larger and stronger. Days turned into weeks, weeks merged into months, months became years. Constantly her anger fueled her forge, kept it burning bright. More and more steel went into crafting her ever-enlarging blade. The ex-friend went on with his life, seemingly unaware of the enemy he had made of her. Then one day by happenstance the two met in passing on the street. The former friend looked at her with great concern. “You seem to have changed from the person I recall. You’ve lost your happy outlook on life. You appear disheartened and weary as though worn down from dragging some ponderous weight around with you constantly.” An epiphany swept over her. “I’ve wasted too much time, devoted so much of my energy into turning a once-small dagger into a burdensome sword that caused harm only to me. Why, oh why, did I ever keep that forge burning bright?” Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |