Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert
Leaving lonely abandoned glyphs and graphemes in their wake
Each text waits to be read, ignored, obscured, unremembered
Pages rot in arcane existence, quietly opaque
Why is this train-station-of-thought here, where no trains-of-thought ever arrive?
When shall deserted documents bask in the sunlight of attention?
Manuscripts wait just to be found once by one roving mind’s fortunate swerve
Manuscripts ache in Ignorance-Limbo, a melancholy dungeon
Printing-machines mass-produce our wireless, mouse-less, link-less papyrus
Organized by ISBN’s and the Dewey Decimal System
None of our schools cover all ideas and concepts published around us
Nobody on Earth knows all; nobody’s got the perfect cerebrum
Through life, even the most informed have more to discover and explore
Each true spirited soul believes in some useful effort
Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils bravely hope to enlighten and inspire
Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert
two3five7 
This is very good poem. I am a past president of the Friends at my local Library. Literacy is a problem where I live. I repeat this is very good.
You’ve hit the mark, Jon.