Laborer

As I lay here, trapped in perfection I realize my surroundings. A rhythm banging in my ears deafening my perception to what happens around me. A repeated impact in my hands as cold steel meets precious metal. The neverending recoil of the collision shakes me to my very core, leaving my legs sore and quivering. Yet I continue on as this labor, is a labor of love. The crashes somehow seem to sync with the rythmic banging in my ears. The cold metallic clangs and the ear shattering booms become one along with the small flashes of blue. My hands, aching and red, begin to tighten into wretched shapes as my muscles tense. Yet I still keep pounding away. The others tell me to stop. They can't take the incessant noise, the clash of passion meeting my only outlet. I will not stop. I can not stop. The twangs and roaring booms must go on. After hours of the work I sit my utensils down. Heavy eyes and throbbing limbs, I sleep. Putting my work on a small hiatus until the following day. Then again it starts with rapid clangs sprays of blue light and thundering tones till my body can't take it anymore.