Trust is a sword you hold by the blade.
You offer it to another and hope....
You will always feel each movement,
Whenever that trust is betrayed.
A pessimist draws the sword
Across his own palm to build scars
An optimist holds the blade tighter
And each movement will cut deeper.
The lover clasps his sword to his heart,
The reward, greater, but the pain may be fatal.
The fatalist presses the blade into the wound
In hope that the next will be the last.
In apathy, we toss the sword in the air
Where it may or may not return.
I have offered my trust in every way,
Yet until I have healed the wounds of the past
Or my last drop of life polishes the sword,
With a sword glistening from fresh wounds,
I shall hold it out again and hope I live.