A free-verse poem about dwelling upon some perceived slight.

Her friend did something
that annoyed her, some act
she took as an unkind slight.
It was painful, somewhat akin
to a small dagger in her back.

The more she dwelled upon
her friend’s action, the hotter
grew her anger, until hot enough
it glowed red like a blacksmith’s
forge filling her inside.

Time and again as her anger
stoked that forge, she unwittingly
heated a new piece of steel
to red-hot. Then she pounded
the heated metal to meld it
with the dagger she had removed
from her back, thus making the blade
she always carried with her
ever larger and stronger.

Days turned into weeks,
weeks merged into months,
months became years.
Constantly her anger fueled
her forge, kept it burning bright.
More and more steel went into
crafting her ever-enlarging blade.

The ex-friend went on with his life,
seemingly unaware of the enemy
he had made of her. Then one day
by happenstance the two met
in passing on the street.

The former friend looked at her
with great concern. “You seem to have
changed from the person I recall.
You’ve lost your happy outlook on life.
You appear disheartened and weary
as though worn down from dragging
some ponderous weight
around with you constantly.”

An epiphany swept over her.
“I’ve wasted too much time,
devoted so much of my energy
into turning a once-small dagger
into a burdensome sword
that caused harm only to me.
Why, oh why, did I ever keep
that forge burning bright?”