The Hammer Falls

The Hammer Falls

The hammer falls

The Underwood snaps out words

 The hammer falls

Bang bang Maxwell's dead

The hammer falls

A nail is driven home to build one

The hammer falls

The preacher's fist drives home the point

The hammer falls

The judge condemns the prisoner

The hammer falls

The blood of Jesus sets the prisoner free

The hammer falls

The dulcimer string rings like a bell

The hammer falls

The piano sings out it's songs

The hammer falls

Grandpa can no longer hold on

The hammer rusts

Heaven calls another saint home

*I ignored the prompt for today. This is one of four poems I wrote at a coffee shop. I saved them for Octpowrimo. They had set up a table with a manual typewriter (underwood) and various random people typed whatever came to mind. They may turn it into a self publish book. The crisp stacatto clatter of keys striking paper was satisfying. The repeating line came first. The rest just sort of flowed. Both grandpas were gone before I was born. I didn't know where the last couple of lines came from. Then I realized (as i wrote it back in January ) this was subconsciously about David Bowie/Alan Rickman*