Forge

“What a world, eh?” the wispy voice
Replied to my slow sigh.
“No guarantees here!” The sound
Brushed like old leaves against the sky.

I was too limp, too worn, and oh,
Too mired to reply.
Instead, I staunched the bleeding,
Bloodless tears leaking from my eye.

Tears, blood, what difference
To me now? Old wounds, try
Though I may, come ever undone,
Slashed through, torn wide open by

New hurts, new minted, newly
Tested, and which hotly vie
For pride of place in that ecstasy
Of pain, that choice of the cast die.

The whisper of an ache accompanied
The voice, as harsh a lie
As any ever told to wishful hearts
Crushed, that in awful longing sigh