The hammer falls, the sparks fly high,
Against the anvil, beneath the sky.
The iron glows a fierce, bright red,
By heat and pressure, it is led.
It feels the strike, it feels the flame,
It wonders if it stays the same.
But with each blow, the grain is found,
The strength is forged, the metal bound.
The cooling water hissed and sighed,
As softness left and power vied.
What once was blunt and prone to bend,
Is now a blade on which to depend.
The fire didn’t come to burn,
But so the shape of strength could turn.
You are the steel, the life the blast,
Built for a purpose meant to last.
Author’s Note
I wanted to capture the idea that our most difficult experiences often act as a forge. We usually focus on the “heat” of a crisis — the pain or the pressure — but we forget that this is the very process that tempers our character. Just as iron must be heated and struck to become a useful tool, our challenges reshape us into something stronger and more resilient than we were before.
