Bronze, silver and gold, the holy three to behold.
Cliche, meek and weak. Fear the ones that no one speaks.
Reflecting a hypnotising hue, unfathomable power imbued.
Others glance over me, but only sought by the mystique
In purity, I am but a child. In glory, every clash of me loud.
I am a panacea, an answer from the heavens.
Bestow upon me a name, and my name shall overshadow the user.
Yet... I am unfulfilled. I live life used and sullied.
With great tragedies upon my blade, I live only in chaotic days.
They do not realise a simple fact, that I am alive.
That only with a truly pure touch would I willingly blind.
Even so, I have no will of my own. Only a blade, and only alone.