What of talent,

What of talent,

And what use cleverness,

How useful a thing

To be hailed as gifted,

Burdened by the weight of genius,

When even simple tasks

Can befuddle the poet,

Stymie the progress of an artist

And bankrupt an executives rise.

Many things are possible

But whatever you

Choose to believe

Some skills are not

So easily transferable,

Or uniformly accessible.

This inequality

May lead to frustration

Challenge the coolest

Of tempers

And test the saintliness

Of the most patient person.

How easy it is for

The nimbly fingered

To overcome adversity,

A shortfall in technical conformity,

When so much of

Everyday life is predicated

On a sharpness of mind,

An understanding of modernity

And a modicum of digital dexterity.

Old skills are at a premium,

With fewer artisans to show the way

What may take a lifetime

To understand, can disappear

When old hands are all wrung out,

Their quaintness

Adding nought but a footnote

To the meaning of anachronism.

What then of beauty

Will that change in compensation.

When prestige is redefined

And realigned as adaptation

As old links are re-connected,

To create new chains,

Is all we lose

The equal of all we gain?

Is what we do

Enough to fulfil our brief

And meet the challenge

Of the gifted thief,

Who stole the very talent

We once used

And now, so readily despise,

When our own,

Once unique thoughts,

Are digitised and replayed back,

In a subtly, different guise.