Blade Poem by Daniel Reurink

Burning anvils, the sword is tempered
The blade, forged eons past
Has now, begun to harness Truthfulness
It is like the cold mirage, the sign
That one must be setting sail
For lands beyond Helen's display
Waiting like the sleep of oars
Roaring like sound implored
Breathing wisps of white vapour
Along the gentle coasts
We are always here, just no where
Found in some space-memory
Of Time's History
Devouring all who cannot seem
To see the sense to serene!
Apathy? That is just a doubt misplaced
For common mistakes routes lessons
That turn into a previous selection
Of which way do we turn, around
The embers burn, and the Sword
Aye the Word, has logos inside
I see the victory of temple standards
White roses and daffodils plethora
Along the rows of the sea-side bottom
Were the Cyst has now grabbed hold
Amenti, yes, Thought and Time
Mercury beyond the sense aligned
Be divine and prosper hope
For this is the next elope