A Song of Ink & Paper

        A monkey managed to speak the 

word, slicing reality despite sounding 

absurd at first. But the story was a hit, 

so there we would sit, while the fire lit 

the night, and witness pure wit and 

mind's eye with delight.

        Memory served us only so well 

so we weathered the letter to sharpen 

our spell, papyrus inviting us to author 

history. That story impressed majesties 

and propelled people to invent a printing 

machine. The press printed money in too 

many eyes, so the publisher was born, set 

to enterprise the new marketplace of minds.

        The publisher grew too bourgey so the 

agent took to stage with the typewriter device 

that turned our story's page. A gilded age 

exploited skills and wage to mass-produce 

page after page after page after page after page. 

Then paper met its maker and apotheosized 

into byte after byte after byte after byte after byte.

        The Realm's been in chaos since 

bookstores were laid off and Darth Vaders 

used the Verbal Force abusing Ockham's 

Razor. The Realm is quite due for something 

right and true to challenge all the madness 

and salvage sophisticated sadness from a 

delayed coup.