Company I’ve been given and in such company I’ve forgone. A blacksmith by fate, singed in the sweltering ethos of man’s company, of this I do know. Through toil and trouble, in a furnace can be made, with the beating of hammer and anvil, ships that set sail. For all strings are taut, melt like molten bronze in ghastly flame.
Hence enlisted are steps to forge one’s own ships that imperatively drown:
- Start your forge in the midst of familiarity. Fill it to the brim with the coal of idle chatter, set to ignite your piece of work.
- Choose wisely which ship to forge and of what it is to be forged of for the keener are made of bronze and the colder, estranged made of lead.
- Bring the fire up as familiarity quickens to closeness and insert your work piece into this bed of centigrade. After all, timing is of utmost importance.
- Heat your piece of work until the colour of rage and passion debuts, emboldening as the temperature rises.
- Still the flames and remove the piece. Begin molding its shape for the metamorphosis of definition and detail. Should the edges be square or smooth and rotund, decisions to make as the hammer chips away.
- Clean the remnants of charring from the fine surface. Thereafter, dip it into the tides of permanence contained within institutionalized constructions.
These be arrowheads forged to pierce stone hearts, coated with the powders of pleasure or the flakes of falsity. These be tides of passing as forged ships weigh anchor, hoist sail and drift away.