Hammered Fate

The anvil’s smith
Dreams of clouds
As he hammers steel
Into iron bars.

With each bellow
Of his breath
Clouds billow
Into arid hydrants
Fueled by will

Too weighted
To move
They weep
In vain

As molten tears
Sear the earths
Encrusted plain;

Forged harbor
For a sea

That will

Never

be.