Blacksmiths of the Divine
Art, poetry, inspired works
Created by the hand of man
Are but glimpses of that which cannot be conjured
In this dimension
Pieces of the heaven
Suddenly presented
But for a split second
In tarnished mirrors.
And we,
Unwitting Blacksmiths of the Divine,
Grope in the heat of our furnaces,
Addicted to the visions occurring therein.
We leap at the stars
With clanking and ungraceful chains
And metal forgeries
That seek to replicate
The vision we glimpsed,
This beauty and purity and truth
That descended without warning –
And we labor
To birth crude, bastardized versions
Compelled by that which
We cannot escape
Or control.
It is Beauty.
It is Truth.
It is Life.
And we know this
Yet cannot know it as we would.
Incapable of being consumed,
It instead
Consumes us all.
---unAsleep