A clean sheet of parchment sits innocent before me. A pleading resounds from it’s fibers, “Do not inflict your life or it’s sorrows onto my surface. I am clean and have yet to be soiled. Your blood and your tears shall taint me. I am a parchment of fine fibers. There is one that took great care to fashion me with quality in mind. One thought that I was worthy to end the life of a tree. There was a pulp ground from a a sturdy log. It took time. The tree lamented it’s own tale of woe, giving it’s life for mine. Please do not cry your tears upon me. I am washed by the tears of the tree.”.
Dear Parchment of Fine Fibers,
I beg for your ear. You are my counsel. There is no other that can hear my woes and fears. I was worthy not only of the death of a tree but a man hung and died for the purchase of me. There was a great cost involved in the sale of my soul. I am washed by the blood of an innocent one, yet this world holds my flesh captive.
My heart belongs to the fruit of my womb. My heart breaks everyday. If my tears can not fall to your fibers, then where shall they flow? If not absorbed by your thirst, they have nowhere to go.
“Dear, Lamenter of Sorrows, I hear your cry. Upon my fibers I ask that you utter and sigh. My sacrifice is great but yours is of a higher cost. I will hold your tears and count that which is lost. Scribe upon me with the blood of your wounds. Mare my beauty with the pain that you know. My fibers were fashioned with care for a great purpose. Spew your words, your thoughts, your aches and your sadness. This is a good cause. Let my face hold your story. Let me reflect your reality. The one who died for your life found you worthy. Let me be found worthy to tell of your journey. In turn, let your heart be the parchment for the tale of the one that gave his all for you. “.
Dear Parchment of Great Wisdom,
I am unworthy to hold his story, still it is written on my heart with the blood of his wounds. I am a poor reflection of his beauty. My woes seem so little and so few in light of the gift you have brought to my remembrance. My tale is unworthy to stain your face. I will tell it for the one who gave more than I ever could. Let your fibers tell his story.
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