Time will pass and you'll become indifferent to the grief,

the dagger that once caused so much pain will be stored away in its sheath.

There it will remain unnoticed

somewhere beneath your cloak,

but just like a dying fire,

it will rage once more when stoked.

and with this sword by your side

you'll be always on your guard,

like a reminder of the pain,

a remnant of broken glass.

it only takes a match,

to start a flickering flame,

Just like a small seed of hope,

can consume you and render you lame.

And fires are easily started,

and can catch you unawares,

much harder to extinguish,

one of love's hidden snares.