A Lost Art

Letters, 

Innocent, unbroken hearts spilled onto paper,

Writing, running, dancing across the page.

Delicate like the spider weaves her web, 

Each line, each word deliberate. 

 

A lost art,

Swallowed by the neverending rabbit hole, 

Inkwells run dry, 

A feather now a child's plaything.

Mailboxes occupied by threads of silk, and their inhabitants.  

 

Words paint pictures,

More magnificent, more detailed 

Then any work of art. 

 

The ability we’ve lost,

To create worlds with our words,

To say what we mean, and mean what we say,

To spill our hearts out onto the page,

To converse without sound.

 

Letters,

The fading ghost of a lost art.

 
 

Rocky_O

VT

17 years old

More by Rocky_O

  • 17th Birthday


    A year older.

    A year wiser. 

    Time slips out from my grasp like the oceans tides, 

    Natural yet terrifying in the most nauseating way, 

    I’m sick of growing up.
  • Love Lost

    Love is felt most when its leaving 

    We cry for what once was 

    What could’ve been

    For the people We once were 

    Watching as it leaves

    Weary eyes, and tired feet 
  • Oh, Bird!

    Oh, Bird, tell me how does it feel to float on wings of ivory and gold?
    What is it like to have the world at your fingertips? 
    Tell me of the world beyond these acres, 
    Of the thrilling adventures in which you sing.