Where is a match without its box,

to strike up beauty flame?

a man on an island with  abundance of resources

yet noone to call his name

An incredibly carved body and neck without string to sound in pride

A tree that misses water, all shrivelled up and died.

Field of vunerablilty, stone heart as my match

box lay at home, door left off the latch

flame killed by water beauty not even born

body and neck drowning in fear, but cant hide away to morn

A death of beauty too obvious to be seen

Silenced by the eye that was once keen.