Beware the Anvils
EvilToasterElf
Posts: 1,119
Anvils
The tribes labor.
They dance feverishly under the anvils
held aloft.
The anvils sway slowly,
and punch holes in the sky.
Silent with potential energy,
they store the speed they would gather
hurling toward the ground.
But the anvils only sweat,
while thunder pounds
the sharp swords of anger
against the surface
of the anvils
that rubs its weight upon the stars.
Eventually crops grow for wary farmers
and their shacks balk, the roofs unable
to fashion hope
against the grim shadows in the sky.
As those below stop scurrying,
their heads droop toward the Earth.
They crane their necks frequently,
but the anvils only wait
They would often discuss
how far they could tunnel
How deep would the anvils delve in their descent?
But no answer would suffice.
Soon buildings reach toward the sky,
step-stools against mountains.
But the question simply presses, like gravity
on the stories of stone, and steel and glass.
Schools are dedicated to the study of
science and philosophy.
Some think the anvils are living dreams,
paintings on the skies of human consciousness.
Others think they are judgment,
held back only by good deeds and love.
They fire weapons occasionally at the anvils
over oceans, but the warheads simply
fall back in great splashes in the water.
One day a divorced man forgets the anvils
he walks out of his house
out of his town
of his country
and lays down on the grass
happy.
The tribes labor.
They dance feverishly under the anvils
held aloft.
The anvils sway slowly,
and punch holes in the sky.
Silent with potential energy,
they store the speed they would gather
hurling toward the ground.
But the anvils only sweat,
while thunder pounds
the sharp swords of anger
against the surface
of the anvils
that rubs its weight upon the stars.
Eventually crops grow for wary farmers
and their shacks balk, the roofs unable
to fashion hope
against the grim shadows in the sky.
As those below stop scurrying,
their heads droop toward the Earth.
They crane their necks frequently,
but the anvils only wait
They would often discuss
how far they could tunnel
How deep would the anvils delve in their descent?
But no answer would suffice.
Soon buildings reach toward the sky,
step-stools against mountains.
But the question simply presses, like gravity
on the stories of stone, and steel and glass.
Schools are dedicated to the study of
science and philosophy.
Some think the anvils are living dreams,
paintings on the skies of human consciousness.
Others think they are judgment,
held back only by good deeds and love.
They fire weapons occasionally at the anvils
over oceans, but the warheads simply
fall back in great splashes in the water.
One day a divorced man forgets the anvils
he walks out of his house
out of his town
of his country
and lays down on the grass
happy.
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