On a bed of shavings, soft yet coarse,
A fragile piece lies, torn from its source.
The fabric rests, frayed but whole,
A whisper of purpose, a fractured soul.

It drifts through waters, swift and cold,
The current pulls, the grip unfolds.
A splinter floats, a fragment bends,
Each step forward, a path that ends.

Ashes fall where once stood pride,
An embered heart, hollow inside.
Yet in destruction, shadows gleam,
A flicker of hope in a dying dream.