Pens have been silenced and quills no longer spew forth words. Chirps, tweets and post have taken the place of polite communication. Letters are now seen in a museum and one blurb can be around the world in a moment. Oh how it grieves the soul to see the art of relating diminished to nothingness. Were Shakespeare to see the folly, he would shake his head in disbelief. Samuel Clemens might lay down his pen and return to a river boat captains ways. Lord Byron would lament and Mr. Poe would brood in a dark and morbid way. What shall become of the future generations, who have lost their way. To even be able to form two coherent sentences may be too much to ask of them. Oh how do you mourn the death of the written word?