For centuries they wait
standing silent
Sentinels for what a time holds dear.
Created in stone, silk or paper
longing for a gaze to fall.
For someone to unlock all the mysteries
written on a day long passed.
They speak of art and music,
they paint the struggles brought from war.
They are stong and sleek,
brought to life with ink, chizel or brush
holding in themselves all the passion
vision and light the author can give.
Withstanding the test of time
frozen in lines of beauty and grace.
Stopping today to view the past
bringing its beauty into the present.
This and more are the gifts we see.
Ink and intent
They are forged into existence.
In each culture they wait to share.
Their grain joins the union of man and art
