Ink

Dirty black ink that stains and infects all with its color
Virginal white paper made from dead trees only to be thrown away
Connect them in a dance of meaning and symbol
Bind them together and paint epic pictures upon their covers
The result is not a book, it is a storage piece for ourselves and our souls
These paper collections will be read and studied much longer after
They contain one single string of thought from one single man
And that string will never be broken or frayed
All of these strings will intertwine and braid together
Creating a blanket of knowledge for the future to rest in
They will be comforted and warm in the blanket of life
They will strive to make it better, warmer and larger
Until all of the world can reside underneath the protection and liberation