The Blade Poem by Kevin Maroney

The Blade, dull in its sweet boredom,
loafs around in its weak scabbard.
Unbeknownst to it, the dark champion draws his sharp sword
The jolly, fat knight drew his dull sword
and was cut down in all his vain glory.
The next owner,
The despair-ridden dark knight,
sharpened it on the whetstone,
Exposing it to the world.
Testing it against it's former better,
He realized it had come...
to realize what its vanity had cost.
Because, as all who have the experience know,
Depression is but a whetstone to sharpen your sword
To cut through the fog.