Before books became bonfires, When we weren’t ruled by force, The strong-arm of the liars,…
Pen’s mightier than sword, they say,
But broken swords come into play.
In a pool of ink lies journalism,
Killed by lack of realism.
The PR man decides the news,
And sends the photos they should use.
And if you dare to write it true,
No editor will publish you.
The blog’s the only place for scoops,
But always watched by pressure groups,
Who press to end freedom of speech,
Under the guise of copyright breech.
The end of the web’s the final fate,
The greatest book-burning to date,
But when the internet’s no more,
I’ll pick up pad and pen once more,
And keep on scribbling on and on,
For my great audience of one.