The old axe sits ready and willing
To do the job others pull away from
Some find it the perfect tool for killing
But that is, once again, only some.
Others use it to show their time here
Wielding it without hatred or fear
That way the story can be shaped
Through time and also in reality
As the wood is harshly raped
Pulling away from daily simplicity
The axe chops and stops time and again
To ply into the thoughts of men
Which grow as this tree once did
Healthy and without halt
With so much anger to rid
Wishing it were not a fault
To express what they need and crave
The answer, which they must save
The questions are endless and long
Complex like each branch and knot
They battle between the right and wrong
Which lesser men readily forgot
It hides not within wood pulled apart
But within the living human heart
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