The Forge Of Being.

The hammer and the anvil,
the molten river of hardening iron,
the ache in the arm of the smithy,
and the silence between strikes.

To be a man is to carry the stone,
not to conquer it but to know its shape,
the cold bite of its truth
and the warmth of its endurance. 

To be a man is to kneel
in the dirt beneath you,
knowing it will one day claim you.

It is to hear the whisper of ancestors
echoing in your marrow.

To be a man is to fall in love
with the questions,
while the Trickster’s grin mocks
your need for answers.

It is to hold the flame of your own longing.

To be a man is to walk the labyrinth
and meet yourself in the centre,
offering the only thing worth owning:

a heart that dares remain open.