Lost In Transition

Sometimes harmony finds me,
As I introduce paper and pen,
And if things don't go right,
I can always start again.
Scribbles and backspaces,
Erasing the places
Whiteout would have been.

Sometimes I type loudly,
To feel like a real typewriter,
And talk in texts with different fonts,
Highlighted by highlighter.
And when you see my voice in ink,
I hope you think,
"I've seen no words brighter."

Lost in this transition,
Of art and composition,
An age for the brave
To venture unyielding,
Combining technology and feeling.
I see no path to follow here,
But it seems the path is clear.