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Poem



The plastic shell, a comforting worn weight,
A tiny screen where pixels sealed our fate.
That simple hum, a digital refrain,
Unlocking hours banishing all pain
Or so it seemed to childhood's eager mind,
A world of bricks meticulously aligned.

The single button or the arrow's click,
A universe of falling colored brick.
Tetris' tyranny, a constant hurried plea,
To fit each awkward shape perfectly.
The rising stack, a looming pixelated threat,
A silent pressure we could never forget.

Snake's endless hunger, inching slow and long,
Devouring squares where did we go wrong
When one wrong turn would seal our slithering doom?
That single dot expanding in the gloom
Of that small screen, a victory hard-won,
Until the next inevitable run.

Formula One, a jerky pixel blur,
Dodging the obstacles, a constant stir
Of anxious thumbs determined to survive
That blocky racetrack, keeping hope alive.
The simple graphics burned within our sight,
A vibrant challenge in the fading light.

The triumphant beep, a high score newly claimed,
A moment's glory briefly, brightly flamed.
Sharing the wonder with a knowing friend,
Comparing scores until the very end
Of battery life, a sudden stark defeat,
Leaving us longing for that pixelated treat.

No vibrant hues of modern gaming's art,
Just stark black lines that captured every heart.
Yet in that simplicity, a magic lay,
Transporting us to a brighter, simpler day.
The brick game's charm, a nostalgic sweet embrace,
A digital ghost in time and space.

Though sleek devices now command our gaze,
A flicker lingers from those bygone days.
The falling blocks, the snake's relentless crawl,
A memory cherished, standing proud and tall.
The brick game's echo, a soft and gentle sound,
On hallowed digital playground.

©bfa041325

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