Ink To Book
Wrinkled lands under blackened stones,
Withering grass over buried bones;
Darkening stains on parchment few,
Lasting ink in series new.
Diamonds, pearls and laurels gold,
Buried deep in history’s folds,
Singed and renewed in every script,
Then buried again in coldest crypt.
Dancing shades in circles too,
Waiting hands on parchment few,
Dulcet tones like misty dew,
Twirling in minds that are new.
Ages pass and times change,
Fade they must but never die,
Unlike life they always remain
Remain to change the unchanged times.
(c)theweavers || (c)arkanelayne