Rotting Recordings Poem by Far Lapenna

You walk past row upon row
Of gleaming pristine shelves
Curving and smoothly holding up
All the current knowledge
This world today possesses
Their spines are crooked, bent and loved
Plastic shielding casing the covers
Their pages white and black
With all the wisdom we now retain
And the carpet becomes harsher
And the air becomes mustier
You walk further back,
The spines are rigid, unloved, untouched
Dust collecting in the nooks and in the open
The pages are yellow, eaten away
With the loneliness of being left behind
Whilst the world keeps on turning
Without them, without thought.