Ode to Vinyl (Read the POEm)

Ode to Vinyl

Upon a turntable, black and bright, It spins in shadows, spins in light, A mystic disk of grooves so deep— It wakes the songs the ages keep.

Its spiral path, like time unrolled, Breathes whispers warm and echoes cold, Each crackling sigh, each ghostly tone, A voice long past, yet not alone.

O relic rare! O circle wide! Thy hymns through needle’s heart do glide; From midnight’s hush to morning’s flame, Thou bore the world each singer’s name.

And thus, though time may warp thy face, Thy soul endures in steadfast grace— For in thy grooves still pulses free The shared, eternal symphony.