Beauty in the hammer strikes
Beauty from the burrowed spikes.
Strike it hard, and strike it fast
Breaking doors, and breaking glass.
A fever pitch contained through course
The purest path of falling force.
Back, and forth a reverence bloom
of struck, and stricken a love resumes
A drum beat pulse of furious pain
A crushing blow you can’t sustain
But passing though soul your mallet towers
and turns black the pedals of softest flowers
Destruction casts it’s idle hand
And beats the glass from dust, and sand
It’s frequency of screams do shatter shards
and the pulsing hammer does send regards.
-A Snickering Record of Myself
In response to the daily prompt Mallet