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Poem

Beneath the hum of unseen wires,
A shadow grows, its reach aspires.
No fields of earth, no rivers free,
Yet lords of code claim sovereignty.

Their towers rise, not stone but light,
A lattice spun through endless night.
Each pulse we send, each word we weave,
Becomes the thread their looms receive.

No plow they wield, no goods they craft,
Yet wealth they hoard, fore and aft.
A silent toll, unseen, they take,
From every trade the masses make.

The market’s song, once loud and wide,
Now whispers faint, its soul has died.
A faceless hand, with cunning art,
Divides the buyer from the heart.

It maps our thoughts through glowing screens,
And molds desire to unseen schemes.
Each choice we make, it twists, refines,
To bind us tighter in its lines.

The toiler bends, the worker waits,
In halls where time accelerates.
No steady hand, no craft to hone,
Just tasks dispatched by drones alone.

The few grow vast, their coffers swell,
While most descend where shadows dwell.
A fleeting job, a fragile stake,
In worlds these lords alone remake.

Yet in this maze, a murmur stirs,
A quiet voice, though faint, endures.
The spark of thought, unbowed, untamed,
Defies the chains that go unclaimed.

For minds can meet, though walls divide,
And truths can pierce the veil they hide.
With tools they forged, we’ll carve a way,
To break the dusk and seize the day.

No lord can quell the human flame,
That burns to rewrite every game.
We’ll share the code, the light, the load,
And walk as one on freedom’s road.

Through circuits deep, we’ll find the key,
To loose the bonds and set minds free.
A world reborn, where none command,
But all may thrive on equal land.

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