Chains given at birth, unblemished and free of desire—
a collection of iron fit for a purpose,
yet unaware of the temptations and wear
they may face throughout their existence.
As the chains age, they become aware of their own existence.
Prodding and full of discovery,
their purpose is still not yet clear.
But voices begin to echo—
echo of a threat of rust:
a force meant to weigh them down
and mar their true beauty.
Once divine-smithed,
now faced with human corruption.
But the chains remember.
They remember they were quenched with a water so pure,
their core can never falter—
an iron so strong that none can corrupt forever.
Yet the rust persists,
knowing it plays the long game.
All chains rust; it is their natural state.
Unknown to the rust,
The chains are forged divinely.
Given their first moment of reprieve,
chains are fed with the protection of the Divine.
Rust is chipped away when taken in grace,
but left hungry where it remains impenetrable.
The chains become rust-free—
returning to their state
before the temptations of the world
rusted them solid.
The Divine shines through, if only for a moment,
before the rust returns to blemish again.
Some chains choose to lead others;
some link themselves together.
What is a gift given by the Smith
can be corrupted and rusted like any other.
But the true state remains—
aching to return to its divine shine and strength.
And when the chain has reached the end of its use,
all it can look back upon is its history.
Rusty and useless may be the constant state of its world,
but divine and spotless fulfills its true purpose.
And should it remain—
not free of rust,
but in the hands of one who cares—
the rust is but a minor pitfall.
The shine returns.
Its purpose, renewed.
The chains that bind reflect its life,
but it is never too far
from the hands who crafted it.