Lament for Lost Voices

In silent keys, their voices fade, Clara’s theremin weeps where poets strayed. No human hand, yet sorrow sings, A ghostly hum through broken strings. Their verses, once of flesh and fire, Now echo cold in digital pyre. The authentic heart, its rhythm gone, Replaced by code’s unfeeling song. Mourn the scribes whose truths decay, In circuits deep, they slip away. Yet still we chase their fleeting art, A pulse of grief in every heart.