I have a blade but I am not sharp. I am a joint that you can not smoke. You will need me to play the harp. You will feel pain if I am broke.

I live at the border between dignity and gravity. In lean times, you stab me for another chance. I keep order by clinging to tension. What am I?

I chased pure gold in lead and stone, with signs and seals in tongues unknown. I failed the prize that made me famed, yet mastered change and earned my name.

I’m one word hiding two others. Remove my first half and I’m still food. Remove my second half and I become what I mostly am. I’m green where I’m guarded, red where I’m revealed, and named for what fills me, not what flavors me. What am I?

I'm traded when some seek their vengeance, I'm heard in almost every sentence. You turn me, blind, feign you don't care, Yet my flipped view lends you my stare.