An ancient shape of mass devotion, forever pointing at midnights ocean But used by man to build a tower, where at its tip lies all the power

I hold your dirty laundry tight, and keep it tucked away from sight. Yet in another role I play, I slow your plans or block your way.

Created by mistake, your food I will bake. Or nuke as you may say, though dryness I will convey.

I've been told I drag you down, but that's kind of the point!

I have a head but no face, my body swings with force and grace. I drive points home without a word, creating harmony in wood and board.