Tempering
As to metal, so to men.
You temper metal, harden it for purpose, for use, by heating to red hot, then quenching in cold water.
The metal gets flakes of oxidization in the process. Appearing as scales in the flames.
The scales of the oxides are beaten off with hard quick blows with a heavy mallet. Noise. Sparks fly against your leathers, the apron you wear to protect your clothes and skin from being pierced by red hot shards of molten flying metal.
As to metal, so to men.
Both are tempered in this Matterium.
My wife has passed.
Tested white hot by grief, plunged into cold reality.
As with metal, so to men.
An old friend calls, her last dying days.
That bitch cancer eating another.
She’ll be gone in weeks.
Yet another blow.
Up at midnight with coffee,
keeping company with the moon,
and the Pacific deep.
Quenching in frozen air,
at the top of the bluff’s steep.
Hours later,
breakfast thoughts appearing.
Another call intrudes,
another friend disappearing.
Hit by a car,
sad way to go.
At least it was quick.
Yet another blow.
As to metal, so to men.
Now is where we live this body’s Life.
Now is where the blows strike.
Now is where the soul heats hot,
Now is where the scales are struck off.
Yet another blow.
As to metal, so to men.
Life shapes men,
not the reverse.
We are as we are made,
such is human male curse.
Metal like men,
is tempered for purpose.
To survive the rigors of work,
in our Beautiful Universe.
Ours is not to know the reason why,
ours is but to endure, work, perform,
and Die.
This can be a really shitty Life.
Don’t be stupid.
Find Love.
Make your contribution.
Men like metal.
Tempered for purpose.
Yet another blow.
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