The Wooden Sculpture
What once was life now rests in death
Beneath my silent hands
In gusts of echoes the final breath
Whispers across the lands
I close my eyes so that I may see
Shadows lost in black
Each one dances rhythmically
Begging to come back
I close my mouth so that I may speak
Our hidden voices scream
There are no words of sound to seek
But what speaks from a dream
I pull my blade and end the dead
The ashes ride the wind
I must reflect what we have said
Because its will must bend
In the stillness of the night
The lonely Moon hangs low
Sweet silver crescent light
I see the life re-grow
Before the Sun makes the day
With sweet morning dew
There is nothing left to say
And nothing left to do
My name is signed upon the wood
In letters spelling pride
What I captured is understood
In life what has died
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