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





5 Replies to ““Mallet””

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