(2/2)An Ode to Paper

I am a sucker for paper.

For the way it feels, smells, looks, everything about it.

It's a wide open slate sometimes.

Or it can be chock full of knowledge.

It can be painted, drawn on, learned from, appreciated, written on, dissovled, burned or so much else.

I like the way it rubs against my hand as I write a poem.

I like the way it absorbs the paint as I smear colors against it.

I like the way it smells as I bury my nose in a book.

I like the way my pen glides against it even now.

But society today would have me believe

that a book can be replaced by a screen.

That if I believe hard enough that all of my needs for these recycled trees

can be met with a simple press of keys

But theres something about the way paper feels.

Something about the way it moves and changes

Something about the way it differs, its ranges.

That means more to me than any screen.

I love paper to much to ever abandon it

I'd rather have a giant library, than one little box that could contain it.