A sword is forged by the world to be unyielding. Metal tempered hard and refined into a sleek edge. Its value found in its honed utility of being so adept in slicing through adversity. Solace found through pride in one's capability, to exist so sharp in a world of strife. But the calcified edge is not found to be satisfied to exist so succinctly. It's utility found as mere consolation to being cold to touch. For once it was once soft and malleable. Fire and touch molded it into shape. And the metal still yearns to be warped by heat once more.
A lovely evocative read, I look forward to the expanded work!