I'm a modern poet
The white paper wasn't bright enough
My favorite pencil didn't write bold enough
My black final-draft binder wasn't modern enough
My black final-draft binder might as well be waste of time
Because instead of writing by hand with love and mind
I can select, copy and paste, relax and unwind
Instead of sitting-up in my bed, copying neatly or erasing the lines
I can repeat or forget, without blinking an eye
The words are more significant than this...
Than minuscule, locking it, hiding it, pocketing it
My fingers replaced my pen
A white glow replaced the lines
Instead of writing away unrestricted, I
have-an inch above my finger- the time
Before, I would sketch the date & time at the top-right
Now it appears effortlessly, automatically, without my permission
It's not only my paper (or screen) anymore, I mean, I didn't write that
With a push of a button I can perfectly align it to the right
I can no longer be identified by unique handwriting
A "go-back button" replaced my eraser
I can no longer hold words thin in my grip
I no longer have to protect it from getting lost, crumpled, or ripped
It's as safe as everything else here;
Not any more sacred or precious
If I'm a modern poet
The ease of art is at my fingertips, literally
And it disappears when the device locks
I don't turn the page, hear the paper sound
I scroll down with one quick swipe
I may no longer write the way I have
I'll type it out on a $200 iPad
Rather than a cheap scratchpad
Is my new version of 'scrap paper' more valuable than my work?
The words will remain in my mind
I'll **** them out one at a time
Somehow demeaning them with this
Sensational technology that corrupted mankind
So, I'm sorry, poetry, my outlet, my friend
You poor, pure thing, let us pretend
I gave you more time, and effort
Just as should for everything you really care about
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I'm a modern poet
The white paper wasn't bright enough
My favorite pencil didn't write bold enough
My black final-draft binder wasn't modern enough
My black final-draft binder might as well be waste of time
Because instead of writing by hand with love and mind
I can select, copy and paste, relax and unwind
Instead of sitting-up in my bed, copying neatly or erasing the lines
I can repeat or forget, without blinking an eye
The words are more significant than this...
Than minuscule, locking it, hiding it, pocketing it
My fingers replaced my pen
A white glow replaced the lines
Instead of writing away unrestricted, I
have-an inch above my finger- the time
Before, I would sketch the date & time at the top-right
Now it appears effortlessly, automatically, without my permission
It's not only my paper (or screen) anymore, I mean, I didn't write that
With a push of a button I can perfectly align it to the right
I can no longer be identified by unique handwriting
A "go-back button" replaced my eraser
I can no longer hold words thin in my grip
I no longer have to protect it from getting lost, crumpled, or ripped
It's as safe as everything else here;
Not any more sacred or precious
If I'm a modern poet
The ease of art is at my fingertips, literally
And it disappears when the device locks
I don't turn the page, hear the paper sound
I scroll down with one quick swipe
I may no longer write the way I have
I'll type it out on a $200 iPad
Rather than a cheap scratchpad
Is my new version of 'scrap paper' more valuable than my work?
The words will remain in my mind
I'll **** them out one at a time
Somehow demeaning them with this
Sensational technology that corrupted mankind
So, I'm sorry, poetry, my outlet, my friend
You poor, pure thing, let us pretend
I gave you more time, and effort
Just as should for everything you really care about
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