A Poem on Modern Change
I’ve lost my pen pal to the web
My lust for the written word is dead
Her quill’s gone dry
Please tell me why
What will I take to bed
Within her thoughts
She always caught
The truth inside of me
How could this world I loved so well
Turn to catastrophe
Each envelope so well addressed
The smell alone I would caress
They took me places I could never go
If not for her I would not know
After all those lovely years
Of cheers of fears of tears
As I address this first e-mail
My heartbeat slows to that a snail
I feel as if this is the end
The words that haunt me now won’t blend
Her Spenserian loops that flowed so well
Are pixel forms on my screen that dwell
The ink she used from pens of old
Are now typed characters so very cold
With her words the same
I’ll play along this game
Then print her letters to save
My pen pal is my e-pal now
And will be to my grave.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #183)
