The Iron Lump
A short initiation story for those experiencing and struggling in the iron age (which is the one you and I are in, so please, keep reading, this is relevant, if you had trouble finding what you ought to do in your life), inspired by how ancient smelting was (probably) perceived as a metaphor for life and enduring its struggles (peut être retirer cette partie pour laisser le lecteur arriver à la conclusion lui même ?)
Deep in a cave stood a lump of iron.
For millenia it had been there, rusting.
It was red and full of holes
Not the blazing red of the iron bar in the forge.
Not the regular holes of the iron mesh
It looked like a rotten, dirty sponge.
Until the day the light came.
Along with a warm glow and friendly voices.
At last there were people caring for it
If only that was true, it was only deceit
Pretty soon the lump of iron was brutally hit
The pain, too hard to bear
Poor lump gave up, and fell off the wall
Now it was picked nonchalantely
And in a deep chariot it was put
Noises everywhere, the lump was moving
The chariot rolling along the tracks
For a time that felt like hours
And when it appeared to move the slowest
the light again
not the same as before, more vivid, and
event hough the lump was a the bottom of the chariot
it was still being sensed assuredly
the lump had never felt such a light
or maybe in a past life