A Woodland Journey: The Mirror

The wind whispers through the trees.
All is silent in the wood, not a sound,
but for the wind whispering through the leaves.
There it is I stand, amidst the rain.

In one hand, I carry the pen,
in the other, a sword.
In my mind, none but peace,
in my soul, nothing but war.

Carry me, if you will,
in your dearest of hearts
or, if you rather,
within your souls ravaged mind.

Such remembrance is for
only your own sake,
but such thoughts,
will true strength make.

For in this wood,
where the wind whistles
so softly, amidst the trees,
my path at once will bristle,

With the thoughts of those,
those I breathe and grieve for,
those I fight and bleed for,
For, at once, when that one leaf

Falls at my feet,
I hear my path ahead
Calling for me to fight,
until I am dead.