An Unfinished Attempt: 'Evermore!'

📸

I am the tale who unfolds-
both night and day;
As time whirls on,
I ponder with the true irony.
Of paper's whispers in the wild
An of nostalgia and more-
the digital dawn of living life.

I, simply am Paper,
once adorned by everyone;
I felt the subtle quill's embrace,
and soon alive by ink's devotion.
I paint the canvas for love's ardor,
Find thee in letters inked by the hand.
Now it is not the same
all new and old are replaced; seems
like a screen that blandly stand.

Oh!
how I stood like a silent sentinel
amidst Shakespeare's verses,
and scriptures and epics;
I uphold the subtlety.
I sing for you; and of-
every verse which is a masterpiece!
Arising from the heart and soul,
Now the screens can't glow,
And my legacy they extol the beyond.
I simply can't go with the flow.

In the grand libraries,
my fellow brethren seeks a place,
Holding knowledge as treasure,
they jostle around the enduring embrace.
From ancient scrolls
to the printed verses;
The screens are unveiling data,
towards a future that's unknown.

I stand like a metaphor,
for the bygone older days.
I contain the vessel of memories,
and unfolds the emotions manifold,
my parchment's fate, anew!

I'm the whispered secrets
of timeless love you adore.
I witness the emotions
that words can or not depict;
But thy screens, thy flash emojis,
are devoid of subtle art you are living.
How can I miss the tender beats
of the human heart that loves.

Like an warrior,
uplifting the inked quill in hand,
My head stood high.
There was simile for connection,
binding souls, large and small,
Though I watch them so closely
as keys tap and emojis convey.
I witness an ironic twist,
to what they call a modern day.

My edges once contained
the scent of dreams,
Now I see, binary codes reign,
or so; it seems the doomsday!
Oh, look, how times change,
as if they were in a play.
I cry, I scream and I am doomed!
'am replaced by this digital ballet.

Amidst this dance of pixels
and the subtle coded grace;
I yearn for the peace to endure.
And the touch of ink on fibers,
crisp and fine, I behold the memory
that's truly and solely mine.

So here I stand aimlessly-
in the museums of the past,
Drawing the relic of history,
with stories amassed.
A symbol of depth,
Or a tradition of love and lore,
While the screens flash by,
I remain evermore!

With💙
©chrysanthemum