My hands first held the iron weight, a blade forged keen.

AI and I , ~LArry

My hands first held the iron weight, a blade forged keen.

AI and I , ~LArry

My hands first held the iron weight, a blade forged keen,
The symbol of a warrior's fate, the sharpest tool seen.
Victories were numbered by the steel that did its will,
And each great name laid to rest, fear remained still.
For strength was in the metal, in its hardened, cutting edge,
And a solemn, fearful pledge was made to its cold might.
Then came the day the sword felt less a part,
A truth beyond its heft was sought, in quiet victory's art.
Into a verdant field, where green life starts and ends,
The power that could grow, where fragile stalk ascends, attends.
A blade of summer grass was taken, a whisper-thin and slight,
And a focused, burning might felt within its gentle stem's height.
At last, the weapon was found, not held within the hand,
But born of a determined will, a purpose to command.
The true war lives within the heart, the battle of the soul,
And a single blade of grass can bend and make the broken whole.
The power once sought to hold, and called a sharpened friend,
Is in the wind, the blade, the stone, and finds no violent end.