--

If you would shape the world by force,
a helpful guide may chart your course.
First raise your voice and call it might,
then shout until it sounds right.

Some find the noise a little crude,
and choose a cleaner attitude.
They trade loud roars for measured claim,
and conquest sheds its honest name.

They strike, then speak of why it must be;
"It is order born from necessity."
Their blades move first, with reasons last,
and peace is named once blood has passed.

They speak of growth where walls have burned,
of lessons harsh, but sadly learned.
They promise peace when order's made,
and call the scars a lawful trade.

What yields is praised as wise and new;
What stands is marked as errant too.
Resistance bleeds, then finds its name,
rewritten with the victor's claim.

Conquest comes with practiced hands,
and ownership by guiding plans.
The city smiles and calls it grace,
while changing shape of every place.

The forest notes this all the same;
It does not judge the chosen frame.
It marks where ink has touched the loam,
and waits for what will still be grown.

Roots move beneath the settled claim,
unmoved by motive, guilt, or aim.
They press where permanence was sworn,
and tear the future from the form.

So build your world with steel or seal,
with shouted strength or managed zeal.
The roots will listen, unimpressed,
and measure your power by what is left.

--

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Valnuary, in the year 992 AF.