Two Rings Entwined

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a poem i wrote ... about the making of two gold rings

Submitted: August 12, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 12, 2012




Two Rings Entwined


Born from the forest the log is thrown into the furnace,

then another till the hearth roars with a deep throated menace.

Feral flames swarm over the wood devouring it hungrily,

hotter than dragons breath the burning heat scorches savagely.

Casting dancing shadows over the smithy’s ruddy features,

within his coal black eyes flicker two fiery creatures.


Beast has heat, its ready.” His parched voice urgently conveys.

His old leathered hand wrinkled, baked dry from the heat, waves.

Towards the skinny lad standing quietly, hidden in the shadows.

Get to working boy,” he shouts. “Pump faster the bellows.”

Funnelled air whooshes loud with each artificial exhalation,

white hot is the heat inside this blacksmiths cauldron.


From the silken cloth bag I had handed the smithy,

he withdraws each little keepsake my precious treasury.

Earrings, a necklace and the broach from my sister,

little gold trinkets are dropped into the retardant mortar.

Long metal tongs move the bowl over Dante's inferno,

heat dissolves gold forming molten metal of liquid yellow.


Skilfully the blacksmiths pours with a steady handhold,

a cascade of liquid gold into the pre-sculptured mould.

Easing apart the cooling cast, his face shows trepidation

he need not worry there complete is validation of his reputation.

Miniaturised copies of Thor’s mighty anvil and hammer,

look tiny in comparison to the blacksmiths large stature.


Metal on metal, the tip tapping resounds around the room,

sparks fly forth as if shrapnel from an explosive bloom.

Working his metallurgical magic he slowly refines,

with one final reheating the newly reshaped icon shines.

A thousand snakes hiss at the chilled waters blaspheme,

merge within a surge of metallic smelling clouds of steam.


From the bucket appears the newly forged gold,

a vision of perfection a shimmering sight to behold.

His fingers quiver causing a tinny jingle from the circled band

and with a flourish the blacksmith lays the rings in my hand.

Having done all I had requested, agreed upon, and now acquired.

In payment I cross his palm with silver for services rendered.


Leaving the shop I gaze at the gold splendour, in wonder.

Interlaced are two perfect circles, one smaller, one larger.

That with a little agitation I thread on a golden necklace,

the symbol of our mutual love, so eternal and endless.

Safely kept next to my heart I will be our ring bearer,

until that glorious moment we are finally together.


Then these golden rings will be reforged, pulled asunder,

our vows taken and each ring placed upon the finger.

But until that day safe around my throat they will stay,

entwined golden rings for our wedding day.


By Tracey Owen

copyright Aug 2012

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