Metal shavings fall onto the floor, the bastard file does it's job
The blade remains, the shavings gone, the blade will come
As time passes, as work is done, the blade will break, no bastard can fix
And every slash and cut will teach me of the blade's nature, of my enemies
And when it is beyond repair, when my love is gone, I will abandon it, in silence

From scratch, with hammer and fire and water, leather and metal, blood and sweat, my memories will build better
And my tears will cure the blade, it's predecessor gone, it's memories will live on in our child
And every perfect cut will bring me happiness
For I know darkness, I know evil, and use it, to destroy itself

I like the last line here, Percival, but this seems mighty dark even for you.

Les

I like the darkness shining through.

Thanks, Perce

Well, hard labor aimed at bettering one's environment always reminds me of the burning sun and the joy of the activity. The thought process portrayed reminds me of progression, and creation. These things and others in this poem are those that make me happy. So, to me, this is far from dark. Which is why the title is love. But there's another reason for that title, and this arrangement.

You gentlemen may not find it hard to believe, but it has been difficult for me to gain suitable company. Les, as you said, the poem is dark. This perception of my thoughts and nature is the very thing that makes it so hard. But in time, in time. Merely a matter of finding someone like me, I keep telling myself.

Oh and that reminds me, I believe you two, or one of you, were somehow related to the education field. I'm new to college, any advice?

If you wish to succeed, surround yourself with people with like ambitions. Good luck, and do make the most of your time in academia.

Les