The Book Museum
I visited the museum today
Many exhibits on display
Shelves and shelves of history
Maps and romance and mystery

I hear long ago the museum was called
A different name, by this I’m appalled
Not so shocked as I was when I’d heard
The museums pieces are books filled with words

I had no idea that words could be printed
Nowhere in my learning had this fact been hinted
That a person might learn from the words in a book
That a book might be borrowed, to ones home it was took

All I have is my device, it speaks words to me
It shows what I ask for, describes what I see
Information is beamed direct to my mind
There is nothing my computer cannot find

But alas I have looked, and it can’t find a book
There is nothing to read anywhere that I look
And I find it quite odd that there could be such a place
Full of books filled with words printed with a typeface

And the more that I think and I ponder about
The museum filled with books, I harbour some doubt
That anyone sane might have wasted some time
Reading book after book, line upon line

So I put it from mind as I leave the museum
Writing is dead, this place a mausoleum
A monument to people with ideas contrary
For who in their right mind would visit a library?

Comments:
There are no messages yet
froszt
Poetry
Other
writing froszt
Let’s have a real conversation. Not that one word garbage. Not that emoji-laden pictographic excuse for communication the kids are doing. I mean we brew a pot of coffee every hour and chat till the rooster calls. How about it?
Bookmark and Share

You must log in to rate.
This has not been rated.

Synopsis
A whimsical musing on the future of libraries in this time of electronic pervasion and seemingly intentional disdain for the written word.
A Word from the Writer
I wrote this poem in a library, the Lloydminster Public Library, to be specific.
© 2014 WritingRoom.com, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WRITING | POETRY WRITING | CREATIVE WRITING | WRITE A BOOK | WRITING CONTESTS | WRITING TIPS