The Blacksmith’s Oath

Before the dawn, I feed the flame,
The anvil knows my weathered name.
Each spark that flies, each hammer’s sound,
Brings one more blade from iron bound.

I’ve forged for kings, I’ve forged for men,
Who swore they’d all come home again.
Their steel returned with crimson stains,
Their voices lost on distant plains.

The hammer falls, the embers rise,
Another soldier says goodbye.

Strike the iron, feed the flame,
Every sword will bear a name.
Every blade that leaves my hand,
Carries blood across the land.

I have never fought or slain,
Still my hands remember pain.
Every hammer bears the cost,
For every sword, a soul is lost.

They leave my forge with polished steel,
Convinced their courage makes them real.
They speak of banners, kings and fame,
They rarely come returning same.

The songs remember victories,
The stone remembers casualties.
While kings decide who lives or dies,
We forge the steel beneath their lies.

Strike the iron, feed the flame,
Every sword will bear a name.
Every blade that leaves my hand,
Carries blood across the land.

I have never fought or slain,
Still my hands remember pain.
Every hammer bears the cost,
For every sword, a soul is lost.

Now my own sons stand by the door,
The way their father did before.
I fit the hilts into their hands,
And watch them leave for distant lands.

They smile as young men always do,
Still sure the songs of war are true.
I hear the bells, I hear goodbye,
And hide the fear behind my eyes.

Strike the iron, feed the flame,
Every sword will bear a name.
Every blade that leaves my hand,
Carries blood across the land.

I have never fought or slain,
Still my hands remember pain.
Every hammer bears the cost,
For every sword, a soul is lost.

If iron could refuse the fire,
If fathers could deny desire,
I’d break my forge and let it die,
To keep my children by my side.

But kingdoms fall and kingdoms rise,
While fathers learn to hide their eyes.
The forge still burns, the hammer cries,
And every father learns to lie.

Strike the iron, feed the flame,
Every sword will bear a name.
Every blade that leaves my hand,
Carries blood across the land.

I have never fought or slain,
Still my hands remember pain.
Now my sons must bear the cost,
For every sword, a soul is lost.