Bleak Streak Poem by mike ruthenbeck

There was a time, and not so long ago
where one would be forced to speak with his tongue
and write with a pen, made to write so slow;
nor listen to music unles it was sung.
And in that time, seemingly way back when,
one would speak and write and sing with a goal
to tell a story of where they had been;
not blindly, but with the greatest control!
acronym's show their power o'er grammar;
just as one falls to temptations of flesh
control now smashed by apathy's hammer
the oldest books still remarkably fresh.
Most writings now just sing of decay
of long ago romances led astray