here he is trying to hone a craft,
like, grinding the knife on a stone
thinking of an enemy, its name is boredom
trying to sharpen the tongue, in the name
of accuracy, like the lashes of the sticks
upon a rock, its style is punishment, but
surely, there is always a reason why, like
loving someone, suffering and ready for the
next cut, the breaking of another morning,
from a dark room, where two shadows dance alone.
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-metaphor-for-dedication/
