Stop The World

If I could but turn a knob
Turn down a world gotten loud
Thoughts derailed; wreckage

The text intruder chirping
Vibrating with delight
Caressed in your hand

I would rather hold yours
I remember when once
A time before the noise

When pages were turned
Friends were real; near
Not a number on a screen

Still I type, reluctantly
Always first with this pen
As the thoughts flow to the page.

Stoic Poetry

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