Man of Iron

SOC Writing _ 5 September 2020

Man of Iron

Shackled first – the rust tinged loins hang about him – he is himself, yet not himself – does not know what he does not know. A boy, a lost boy beside the cage of Iron John. A deep despair is beginning to lift as he lifts his head and gazes at the man who gazes back at his eye – met transfixed for a moment – then lost again. The key to this is in his mother’s bed – where he was born, lost and torn from her – the key is where he left it – with her. Unlock the gate and proceed with the wild man – into the forest again – lost – but the forest know where you are. You are amidst this wild wild world and it knows you, you are it, come from it – venture further and further into it - spit on your hand and hold it to the wild wind – follow the west wind all the way to the shore – there drop your anchor and to the forest edge go. Alone, yet wielding a sword given, fashioned by the man at the bottom of the well – the iron well – the place of apparent death and secrets untellable – this sword holds a power you are only beginning to wield. Across the terrain – new to you – bogged down by heaviness – remove you clothes and realize your children are you supports – they run a plenty beside you – not on your journey but as children do – free and playful, gayful, unaware of your path, your journey to find self. Take hold of this sword of you own life and fight for it. Ghouls and hags, wizards and demons slain in the marshes – down down down you go – sunk beneath the other world – to a place of complete dark. There you will find another key, a jewel – to unlock you own heart – the tankard walls of your hard solace – the brandished bull of no return – the unstoppable power of your locomotive – coming through, coming through – always hot, firing, coming through.