Shunned At A Funeral - The Blacksmith

I came with a blade in a
Little black wrap.
A splitarted
Sword with a thunderbolt crack
I carried my grievance through
Bri and
Glenn with names on my tongue
Like a curse
And amen
They sharpened their whispers, insulted
My name.
They dressed up their daggers
In delicate blame.
They smiled
Like saints while they buried the knife
And called it concern when they bloodied
My life.
So
I crossed the hills where
The black first bed with my
Broken steel and my will to amen.