Sword Not A Bed Poem by Beating Tree

Death granted by the end of a master crafted sword, not a dusty old bed.
A grave next to my brothers in arms and blood, not of normal virtue.
To cut away the life of a person is a crime I take on faith.
To step on land closest to the heavens, the kingdom of grace.
A life only fulfilled when my sons can step into the clouds free of war.
Death granted by the end of a master crafted sword, not a dusty old bed.