Written on a screen

I miss the slow engagement with the word,
And physical embodiment of text,
The days when all along the shelves I’d search
To find the end and object of my quest

And then at last within my hand to hold
That precious world of freshly printed ink,
Beyond whose cover I’d discover a cast
Of friends – and sometimes foes – who feel and think

In such a way to touch my soul within,
And in the turning of each fresh, crisp page,
I’d eagerly pursue their every move
To gain a vision of that wider stage,

On which we all are called to act our part.
The text is pixilated now, to browse
Is simply with a mouse scroll up or down,
And words endure but for the here and now.

What if we learnt to read and read again,
To savour every carefully crafted phrase?
To cultivate within each humble heart
A sense of wonder, an openness to grace?

29 Jun 24