The Poem and the App

A poem fell in love with an app:
App had everything the poem lacked.
He lived in the world in a tangible way.
Poem hid between pages
with so much to say. 

An app fell in love with a poem.
She spoke of feelings he’d never known.
She was found by only a chosen few
while he lived in the glow
of cold plain view. 

The poem was dazzled by the app.
You are the future!
Touching lives with just a tap.

The app, he loved the poem too,
tracing her letters
his app-heart knew. 

He showed her the pleasures
of tiny gestures:
How to alter perspective
with just a pinch.
How to press, swipe, drag,
through life’s moments. 

You are the present!
Poem said in awe.
Helping me forget
there was a past at all. 

But one day App…
well, he was different.
Something about him
had been rewritten. 

Poem tried to love him just the same
but how could she love
something the main
stream could sweep
with its lightest demands
so easily swayed
by a keyboard and hands. 

Poem's words, they did not change.
Her readers came back
Again and again.
Each time they returned
They learned something new.
You don’t shift her words.
She moves you. 

App went on keeping
up to date.
And their once warm love
cooled closer to hate. 

What to Poem once seemed
like glossy success
looked increasingly more
like emptiness. 

And the deeper meaning
that App had sought
had been achieved once
and that was a lot. 

App would go on
to entertain
cold fingers and eyes,
a passing train
of surface touchers
and trend-drunk lovers.
His nameless author
would keep him covered. 

You are the past.
Poem sadly acknowledged.
Your faceless author
can’t always keep you polished. 

When the shine wears off
who will hold you then?
I’m sorry old friend,
you’ll be forgotten. 

To the few that felt Poem
she always will last.
Poems are not
future present or past. 

Their authors make timeless
these bits of their souls
they share with each other
to fight off the cold.