once again yama closed his eyes and recited : trace the pages of an open book if your heart is true silent sentences because you look spring to life for you frozen stillness in a northern sky moon so full and cold turn to speak to me as ashes cry secrets that they hold and on the canvas of eternal silence form the colors of his heart and his soul in the twinkle of symphonic islands they are traces of his spirit leaves of distant grass whispering that morning has as yet to come to pass traces of a searcher gleaning something old shining in a stillness where his silent truths are told traces of a torture tales as fading light fertile with his sorrow and begotten by his plight traces of his spirit beats of fading wings reaching for the morning and the promises she brings muses come to him when suns go down inky fingers roam furrowed brow within beleaguered frown tracing dreams of home immortal images in truthful grace leave his battered shell forever stunning those he has to face in his daytime hell and on the canvas of eternal silence form the colors of his heart and his soul in the twinkle of symphonic islands they are traces of his spirit shadows of his path fighting in the lingering and scornful aftermath traces of a painter skillful strokes belie pain that tore and broke him and the love that saw him cry traces of a sailor tracing myth and lore sailing all the wild and holy traces from before traces of my spirit chords alive in flight sound a world of wonder and of mystical delight and on the canvas of eternal silence form the colors of my heart and soul in the twinkle of symphonic islands for quite some time neither spoke .