Imprints Live On

A box, in it a notebook
The pages blank, no lines
A feather Dipped in Ink
Smeared over the pages

Seeping deep
Amused by this image
It continued to bleed thru
But is it an illusion? No.

A hand, picking up the bottle
The ink spilling in drops
Soon blobs of ink seeping
Numbed mind, no feeling nor thought

It's the truth.
How to know for sure?
It happened the way it was supposed to
It fell together correctly
The puzzle fit together, only for a while

Was it not an illusion?
Can't be sure, only time can tell
No smells, no scents
No images, just waiting

Another bottle over the pages
Within a moment, the potion
Spilling across the table
Who knew, within a moment
The ink would smear so
Never again to decipher the imprints

It wasn't an illusion, it was the truth
Said goodbye. Farewell for now
Come back if you must
To decipher the imprints
The ink still stains these very pages
They'll rip, but wait
They'll stain, but wait
They'll discolour, but wait

Put a lock on the pages
Burrying it deep
In a box, within another
Beneath the sand
Waves wash over the place
Waiting for a presence
In words or a face

Speaking the truth
It is a must
The pages may dissolve
leave the very depths of the world
The imprints shall live on
Then and now, many or even a few
'Old' as they call them, didn't have time for any new