Echoes of the Forged Soul 

Pity and love walk hand in hand—
Did you want love out of pity,
or because you couldn’t bear
to turn that pity inward?

Leave them—
that indecisive, fragile soul.
Give the poor one inside,
a chance to cry out the toll.

A solitary sojourn,
melting like magma, silent cries hiss and echo deep,
As the Bladesmith tempers,
fires the will, to forge his
most radiant peace.

With every hammer’s blow,
with every searing strike,
the soul is purified—
refined through flame and fire,
hardened in the crucible
of suffering and resolve.

The more the blood, sweat, and tears fall,
The purer and stronger you become—
Original forged in fire and storm.

Like King Arthur, steady and bold,
Excalibur in hand,
Claiming your power,
Rising true and untamed.

Each strike, each scar,
welding peace within,
joining all fractured shards,
to become the truest self.

Find your heath—
wild, raw, and honest,
amidst the layers of facades
worn to fit in, or shields
of thorned repressions,
rooting from prickly denials.

Only then can love truly begin.

– Nodame