How has it come to this?
A book once vibrant in cover and fluent in language
Now tattered and dropped into a recycle bin.
I can hear them now,
The many in the landfills and recycle plants
“Judge me not by my remains but by my essence.”
But we discard based on looks and physical holes in plots.
We ignore the beauty of language and character development
For pristine copies of the new
When sometimes
The old would have worked just as well.
A book once vibrant in cover and fluent in being
Now tattered and forgotten.
How has it come to this?