A solitary giant, standing tall and silent, guardian of stories untold, carved by time's steady hand, unmoved by the waves of change.

Made from sand, I let you see, but one wrong move can shatter me.

In the whisper of quills, it flows like rivers of midnight, captured in the dance of feathered scribes, painting stories without uttering a single sound.

I’m tapped from trees, then heat refined, to stretch and snap yet not unwind.

The difference between Coke and Mexican Coke is a five letter thing. A sweet, and perhaps deadly, crystalline thing; ground more finely for powdering things.