I carved it on a little wooden box... all the hate, all the anger,,, I carved the lines that weaved between the dangling man and the tree that held him. "cancer or termites, not a bad way to go huh?" not a breath. A gentlel sway with the breeze, a dance of fire fly's,,, as if floating on air. he would have never wanted it this way.. I carved the hands between the shadows that reached out for more; inside the words of going blind, the moment of saying goodbye... I hoped the man would never survive, a death more painfull than I could waste my time,,,. Please I begged!!! let his strength not retain, let their hands slip away, let him burn under the plane. I watched the wood fall away as put the box to the knife, catharsis was flaming. More, more, more, I kept moving onto the next. Men dying in fields, the most regretable death, how will their country remember them?... The sound of frustrated youth crashed unto the floor. Him standing ready, like ready to axe through the biggest oak tree. The speakers sound in cacoughany... And finally the symbol of my peace, my breath slowed on the final strokes, almost regretting the end as my hands slowed.... when I woke, I washed my blood stained hands, I watched the red go down the drain, with it ran the sadness, guilt, and pain... I knew I did my best, and I am no longer to blame...