The Modern Troubadour

I wander streets where neon lights hum,

A minstrel’s soul in a city’s pulse.

My lute is a screen, my song a code,

A digital love letter to those who scroll.

•

In ancient days, I’d sing by the fire,

Of knights and maids, of battles and grace.

But now I strum in the glow of wires,

And send my words through electric space.

•

My ballads once echoed in marble halls,

Now they ride the winds of Wi-Fi waves.

From tower to tower, through walls they pass,

To touch hearts in distant, faceless caves.

•

Oh, how the world has turned its page,

From parchment and ink to bits and bytes.

Yet still, the troubadour remains,

His voice alive in the silent nights.

•

No steed, no sword, no squire at hand,

But still I roam with a poet’s art.

In virtual realms, I take my stand,

And serenade the digital heart.

•

For love endures, though time may change,

And poets too must evolve their rhyme.

The modern troubadour still finds his stage,

In the endless scroll of our restless time.