storage of grains and missile I am but sometimes just empty cylinder in the farm land

From times past, a treasure held dear, a whisper of tales, oh so clear. Crafted by hands now long gone, it's the key to stories overdrawn. Indiana Jones wants to find them all.

Liquid lightning for the sluggish soul. A steamy hug in a mug, coaxing awake the sleepiest dreamer. Its aroma whispers promises of clarity and focus.

found in liquid or powder i make things more colorful shirts or paper or sponges... only bleach can take that stubborn thing out

Ride my deck, but not on the open seas I glide through pool, but I don’t know how to swim I use trucks, but not for interstate commerce. What am I?