Sacrificial art.

I don't want to declare the pain
That's hidden deep inside 
I just want to contain it, wrap it tight and hide

I cannot run the old wooden trail like my younger years, nor out run the forest wispers and the lonely tears,

The tree's they baracarde the rich and open sky above,  the lonely miles I've walked without you by my side in love 

Young hearts they hold on tight And never cease to yearn
But these old wounds like the tree's they wither and they burn

I've walked I've ran I've crouched down in the rain, I've praised the heavens for your love, and opened up again

The pain of loss runs deepest into the depths of soul and heart, I bleed against the tree's as paper's  sacrificial art.