I am but a tool.
Nothing more, nothing less
only as dangerous as the ones who would use me.
My first owner,
I remember him fondly.
For though his movements clumsy and choppy
but his heart more than made up for it.
Though an at the start
his skills became refined with time and practice,
in his hands masterpieces blossomed,
creations that I am yet to recreate
with any other hand I have been in.
My second owner,
I remember with much respect.
His movements were clinical.
and clean yet lacking the heart of his predecessor.
Accuracy and perfection were his goals
beauty came second.
His heart was not in it for it was his father's dream not his.
The last owner
mixed perfection with risk.
He is far from perfect but he is my favorite so far.
In his mind beauty and perfection are one and the same.
He has his father's eye
and his grandfather's heart.
I am but a humble knife.
Nothing more, nothing less
but the stories I could tell,
the generations that have molded me
and used me.
For I am only as effective as the hands that hold me
and as dangerous as the hearts
of who would use me.
This a good one!