From Death Forges Life
A chattering skull impaled upon a lonely sharpened spear,
With one end planted firmly in the hoary earth,
And the other thrust aloft defiantly into the blackened sky.
The spearhead, forged by the greatest of blacksmiths using the purest of steel,
Smithed upon the mightiest of anvils to the sharpest of points,
And tempered in the hottest of fires to the surest of strength.
The shaft, hewn from the tallest of oaks
With the tightest of all grains
To yield the truest of all flights.
The blacksmith worked through the cold of many nights,
Dancing in the moonlight with a great shower of white-hot sparks,
To make his last work his finest.
Through many ages the spear survived, never failing in its task.
Now alone in a field it stands for all eternity;
This field, once the site of many ancient battles, now within my mind.
A chattering skull impaled upon the lonely sharpened spear,
With one end planted firmly in the hoary earth,
And the other thrust aloft defiantly into the blackened sky.
A bloody crown of thorns lies on the barren earth beneath the spear,
A crown once worn when the skull breathed life
And the missing body trod the land.
I do not know if I should fear the skull,
Or welcome it with open arms,
Whether I should embrace it so, or if it will cause me harm.
Perhaps it is the skull of the blacksmith,
Impaled upon his own masterpiece
That has stood the test of time.
Perhaps it is the skull of the man who lives inside my head,
The man who can be summoned forth
With black candles and a pen.
Or perhaps it is the skull of the man who represents my future,
The nights of torment and torture when I try to rest
But am met with fitful slumber.
Why does the skull keep haunting me,
Chattering, chattering in my sleep?
And how does something that is dead keep me so alive?
Originally written:
September 17, 2001; February 9, 2002
Put online:
March 10, 2002
Discussion:
This poem started out with the first stanza only, which just popped into my head one night (actually, I woke up and the line was simply in my head--it was the first thing that I thought of). It then sat for a few months before finally being turned into something resembling a poem. The exact meaning behind it eludes me for the most part. One interpretation (courtesy of Lauret) is as follows. The spear represents my pen, and the skull represents my writings. Because of the time of year that the lines first hit me, it basically represented that I would start writing again--I was just waiting for winter (the only season that I can really write). This interpretation seems pretty logical to me, especially considering the last line (writing is the only thing that has kept me alive this long). Once the actual poem was formed, however, I think there's more to it than just that, but like I said earlier, I'm not exactly sure what. For one, there are vague religious references--the sharpened spear, the crown of thorns, etc. Perhaps it is Christ's skull on the spear. And finally, I don't really like the end. In general, I just don't like it, and I think it ends too abruptly. ...And I wish I could come up with a decent title... I wonder why I even put this online.
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