The Curse That Carries

Man finds his future in compliments
Another in insults
Both beauty and brokenness waver on wording
The meek and the mighty, the both of them crumble at it's scourge
Still echoing carries it's curse

What's whispering that it would have you indulging in it's kiss
Ensnared and enchanted, indefinite groaning
And the point of all you would say is what's piercing even you
As you're falling upon your sword
And it's curse

Sow your sayings sparingly
These hearts are fertile
Know that complacent lips may bleed thee
Render you regretful of your cast impressions, through these, your words

This is ripe
Your harvest is that of thorns
And you're constantly fashioning face from the fall of your foes