soft, flowing characters
of some ancient alphabet
painted with sharpened reeds
upon hand-pressed parchment
black ink of yore makes images
of peaceful streams and mountains
hanging in the gentle spring sun
slowly drying to permanence
delicate parchment is at peace
reflecting the tranquility within
never cognizant in its free expression
of inherent fragility and grace
of the pointed, cold steel blade
thrust into its woody fibers
by the hand of the very artist
who had brought its words to life
it falls now from its hanging place
waving to and fro in the breeze
comes to rest in the moist grasses
its still wet ink crying into itself
tales of joy and beauty lost
as stream and mountains run together
bleeding tears of ink and despair
beneath the artist's loving hands
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