Our Most Treacherous Knife

We fail to see it truly,
And throw that title
To lesser, dulled blades.
It is not our pride,
It is not our fear,
Not our hunger,
Not our vengeance,
Not even our passions. 
It is our continuous 
Failure, so grand
The mountains weep,
To realize how sudden,
How sharp,
We may yet become
Hostages to our very existences.