The artisan’s battle lies within. The unseen imperfections by the untrained eye are like memories of torment in the artisan’s mind. Each imperfection and mistake acts as a mirror, reflecting the flaws within ourselves.

The artisan’s way came to me one day,
It picked me up and carried me away,
I was placed down in front of an oak,
and using my hands I set to work.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart's longing. 

A whisper soft as a breeze of air,
like a divine gentle nudging,
risen from despair.