Like us, a tool such as a knife can be good or bad; the difference, we know good from bad.
(c) 1988 by Archie R. Whitehill
The knife lay open, glistening, in my hand.
What good, what evil have you done?
I imagine both, I do. I see the blood;
I see the image of bread, of lives lost,
Of honest work, of pain most of all.
Oh where have you stuck, thou knife of old.
From where you struck, knife so bold.
Tell the stories of your lives lost.
Tell me the stories of your lives saved.
Of strength and happiness, too, I know.
I pick you up, o knife so wise, so old.
I look at the sharpness of your soul,
Your point so deeply forged by man, yet
A shallow sense follows near that point.
Tell me the tales you know.
Glory, pain, life and death
Are all parts of your history right here.
So true to form you teach me how
To forge ahead, with keen wisdom
And sharp with life.
© Copyright 2003 Archie (UN: archiew at Writing.Com).
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