Furnace

The Master, with nearly deceptive ease, moltens a life of perfection. Complete in every regard, lacking not even in the most minute of detail.

Myself, I struggle with gauntleted hands to forge a masterpiece. Perspiration beads, pauses, then tracks a downward path from brow to the precipice of the chin. Hammer, flame, and forger's tongs blur together in the struggle of creation

Failure.

Human frailty is reflected in its marred and imperfect surface. Another unpleasant stepping stone to perfection is taken in stride.

Deficiency is thrown again into the merciless flame; it is consumed.

At length, glowing, shapeless matter is removed from Vulcan torment. Another venture is made to mold the molten element, dripping with unbounded potential, into something of immortal greatness. A testament to the ages. A true masterpiece.

Weakness is discarded, Dross is comsumed. and through ceaseless revision, a form emerges. Imperfect still, but a touchstone closer to greatness

Set again in fervent heat, the process continues. Perspiration ceases not; arms and tools move in heightened harmonic symphony.

Improved Failure.

This is the all consuming denominator. The Engine of Creation, the Element of Pure Refinement.

Progression.

Deep Morning Reflection

2:00

On the dot.

Gently humming, a cool electric breeze brushes past my legs. I lay, basked in a dim digital glow, images of people flashing before closed eyes.

I wait, more for the seclusion of slumber than the coming of day.

The washroom beckons.

Sailor, shaky on new legs, blinded by darkness, meanders carefully through the portals, well known to the sleepless traveler. Brilliant light illuminates pink tiles.

Return steps taken in greater confidence. Toes smash noisily into dark, shapeless, lifeless matter. No pain, merely annoyance. Concern for the potential disturbance of slumber, well earned by those so blessed, momentarily flashes through the mind.

Never mind, their sleep is deep.

Fortunate.

I return to bed, bathed once again in digital winds and electric light.

Momentarily, I contemplate the future, then turn to the images, seeking their company as I pass through another restless night.

2:09