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