Oak

Chanting in the wind, metal moves along a trail of souls;Memories just a whisper but the oak remembers all that fell and all that gave others blood;The screams buried in this wood bare more than tortured souls and more than living eyes dare see;Leading more towards a flashing edge of desperation there belongs no time, no place within this sanctuary of hope or tale without an end or beginning;The future is not now for without a candle there is no fire and without evil there is no good;All that see the pain will see more through the vines of life and to another place deep within our souls and peer at God;Leaving more to remember and leaving little left behind we are just viewers of our own soul.