Bookshelves brimming over winter tragedies shuffled among art books caught between records of Brahm's and Chopin staring, glaring form dusty library holes where timeless plots lie in shallow graves ignored for Goosebumps and Fear Street snubbing Othello and Ayn Rand classic lines forgotten anceint thoughts forgone conclusions musty relics in a high gloss world gone is the quiet sanctity of a used bookstore libraries no longer whisper-quiet humming now with the sounds of a beast breathing a high-gloss beast attractive in it's destructive state pushinf for forward thinking faster machines with 24 grams of fat progress unaware that we discover more each second but all true learning can never be contained in mechanical bits and bites without dignity without honor only with shiny curiosity for all real knowlege has already been taught
Reason for writing:
Frustrated, I wrote this in a fit of anger because I had no way to type my final research report for my junior year. This was before I got my pc, and now I can't live without it. I'm not as proud of this poem as i am of others, but now that I've fallen prey to the high-gloss beast, it's my way of apologizing to it.
Birth sign: Not entered
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