Made for

How do you make the sharpest sword?
You start with good steel
Then you find the hottest fire
Stoked by the breath of life
And the cleanest fuel
You douse it in the central furnace
Against its will you burn up its imperfections
As you force it to remain in Flame's heart
The spot you can barely look upon
As the heat and light threatens
To leave its shadow
On the eyes of the viewer
And at the precisely the right moment
when your metal becomes
The brightest red nearing white
You remove it from the heat
But only long enough to hammer it
Beating it between like two pieces of equal steel
Pinched and pounded with all the strength of the maker
It is repeatedly, incessantly brought to intended shape
AS the the bubbles and imperfections are removed
Its specific task is revealed
And as whisper of intention are barely audible
before it may conform to its environment
You thrust back in the crucible
Over and over again steps are repeated
Knowing that the process brings the glory
The longer and more precise the work
The greater its potential
With healing complete
In the waters of purity tempering begins
Where it learns to bend and flex with the force to which it will be tested
It is ready to take edge
It is ground by friction and heat to teach it of the armor it must penetrate
And shown the way to pass through obstacles and rapidly defeat
The enemies of its wielder
In defense of its maker
Then when attached to firm handle, stropped and polished
We step back to be humbled at the beauty of its foundry
Standing there marveling at the blades creation
Is only the beginning of its purpose
For even the most highly prized sabre
Is just a picture of truth
Until it is tested in the battle
For which it was intended
A finely crafted sword is only art
Creation and education
Are only preparation for usefulness
Earned through performance of life
in defense of those things you hold true and dear
All tools are incomplete until they shape, turn
Or lever those jobs for which they were meant

All Rights reserved to James Martin Cox