The Anvil
The descending pein and the anvil
I’ve been between. Yet, the hammer’s
Not anything I can’t handle.
I’ve dents and dings by the handful.
Bends and creases and man, have
I been in pieces and shambles.
When it seems that I’m damned, though
That’s when to Bríd I incant all
My gratitude
for the crucible of usable lessons.
Passing through I was crude. But my true and mutable essence
Has been extracted.
Had to have the slag removed. But what’s left has been
Gathered, tooled, and connected, then crafted, cooled, and perfected.
Yeah, I do get to stressing but my perspective is now
When I get dejected and down
It won’t incessantly hound
Me even if I wanna be a grieving pessimist, how
Can I, when I look around and see too many blessings to count?
Precious encounters when pressure is pounding me into shape.
Treated for strength.
It’s no problem. The heat I can take.
It deepens my faith. Cause even when I’m beaten, Her flames
Temper and mend me so as long as I’m with Brighid I won’t break.
Audio: To hear Essy Thorn perform this prayer, go here.
Image: "person hammering metal using hammer" by Maranda Vandergriff on Unsplash.