The Curse

From birth,
To life;
To blood
To blade,
Of sword;
To curse,
To grave.
As the victor
Cleanses vicious
Sword
Of the lost
He casts the
Curse upon
Himself
For how much
Better
For the living
To curse the
Dead
Than for the
Grave
To curse
The living

Summer Lake Pine

Dark green, unseen
By harsh daylight
Gently bowing over
Shadow's subtle flow
Whisps carried within
Wafting the summer
Breeze throughout all
Carried upon
Bird sond
And saplings' hope
Giving breath
To the wind
You carry us all