Forge

I mostly move from word to word and live
between the lines
my grammar's not the greatest ever heard, and I tend to
stammer at times
when I behold a song unfold and hold it to be true
then I'm drawn toward a tale untold to often
think of you

an hourglass grinds against the grain and measures time
by the handful
I hammer rhymes from a sloping rain out on the
poet's anvil
I wonder how you're making out, if you're
still in the game
does lightning chase those shadows out when thunder
shouts your name?
while music carves the starving air and sings
the blues away
where love alone sets the tone and shapes another day

sands grind against the shine to weigh in by the grain
I hammer time into a chime that rings and
rhymes your name
an hourglass shines against the grain
measured by the handful
I hammer rhymes from the sloping rain out on a
poet's anvil

that's the mark of a tunesmith glistening, glinting at a
sweating forge
casting sparks into the dark, outlasting the
squinting swords
so I mostly move from word to word and
live between the lines
to lean with ears wide open that hope for
hammered chimes