a monument carved out of stone
skin destroyed by vines overgrown
the hands that shaped the lifeless face
the hands commanded to toil and slave
the soiled hands are what create
a monument to her own grave
I came across near a twisted root
a face half buried in the dirt
the life was gone but the story lingered on
through passing moons and many dawns
unearthed and bare lay the fragments of time
a veil worn for us to find
life goes on near a quiet stream
the poison spills we didn't hear the screams
of all the things we've never seen
the lifeless forms lay scorched in heat
the hands that gave
the hands that slaved
the hands of time |