Steel, cold as

Steel it from me again.

I might die, but I don’t know when.

So steel it from me now,

before it’s lost to you somehow.

Steel it from me and lock it in your vault,

before the vulture, shedding Halcyon days, begins to molt.

Our lives are a state of shock and awe, staging revolt.

My words, my hopes, a catapault.

A gamble to climb this wall,

without protection from the fall.

Finding the windows are brick and the doors are locked,

every entryway and every exit is blocked.

With all these booby traps about,

there’s no way out.

I might die, but I don’t know when.

Yet I know it’s time for the pen.

Write it and write down again,

so I may cast my seed amongst the fields of men.

Where they might fall along the path,

God will be in the aftermath.

Steel it from me, so I can’t steal it back.

I’m cold, I’m lost, and under attack.

Save it from me, foster it, husband it.

He was mine,

but husband he did not.

He ran bands of steel through me and impaled my hope.

So now even frozen steel isn’t as cold as my thoughts.