My past was reverential, sacred
Like a mausoleum of those
Who had left their legacy
Between aged leather;
A lodestone for the learned
Which slowly succumbed to decay.
My present is a regression,
A stepping down to the child’s world
Of fresh rainbow colours
And white open space;
A way to see the world
Through eyes just opened.
My future will be profound, requisite
As the lungs of the city,
Packed with studious pockets of life
Which gently hum and breathe and click:
A silent movie
Gone technicolour.
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