Iron Poets – A Poem

Iron is for bridges

Superstructures for futures

Steam and great engines

Unbending and ancient

One of the first atoms spasmed

From the billions-ancient chasm

Of our birth in cataclysm

For turning? No it isn’t.

 

But unsung

Iron makes bombs

 

Poets they are plastic

aesthetes, airy elastic

never nailed down

cloud-head-clowns

Filled with conceits

Back-room front-runners who believe

That assonance cures dissonance

That syllables call dissidents

 

But pages don’t

Make presidents

 

YET

 

Iron Poets meld dreams

With rock and love with steel

So we are hard as diamond

Yet still feel. So that microchips

Gain pulse and fantasy finds feet

We will bleed and shield

We are veins annealed

We are driven nails and complete

 

In ourselves we trust

Until the world rusts

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