by Bryande Murray
So I sit here each day and I wonder:
What would someone like Mark Twain do now?
With computers, the Internet, cell phones?
He grew up when a tractor and plow…
Were the cutting edge type innovations,
in a world that had just picked up steam.
And the whole earth’s outlook on “creation”
was as new as a sapling is green.
Would he’ve turned out as brilliant a writer?
If he had all these things in his face?
Would he sit down still, and pen a masterpiece?
Or just zone out in endless web space?
I’m in no way implying that somehow,
A much better writer I’d be,
If there wasn’t so much mindless dribble,
Always floating right in front of me.
‘Cause your mind isn’t processing info,
Or absorbing it, as you should wish.
It goes simply in one eye and out of one ear,
When the link you click acts like a switch.
And within all of these trails of nonsense,
There is something I’ve found I must say.
I bet Mark Twain’d’ve smashed his computer by now,
(If it made it past its first whole day).
He just doesn’t seem much like the type who,
Would sit there just scouring the web.
He’d be out in a rag top convertible,
the wind shaping white hair on his head.
He’d be sitting by creek side at noontime,
probably reading a Hemingway book,
taking in all the summers sweet offers,
stealing sunshine like he was a crook.
See it’s simple things like this I fear most,
that we often forget how to do.
In a world full of fast paced ambitions,
for your 1 someone else just got 2.
And I think we could all find contentment,
if instead of our blind race to prow,
in this world that we can’t quite keep up with,
we asked, “What would Mark Twain do right now?"
