In realms where thoughts are pixel-stitched, on screens both small and wide,
We seek a haven, walled and latched, where secrets might abide.
In gardens curtained by code, beneath a binary sky,
We whisper truths, ironically, where echoes never die.
Through forests of fiber, we wander blind, seeking solace in silence,
Yet, our footprints write narratives in the sands of digital reliance.
In search of private havens, we seal our lives within these walls,
Unaware the garden we inhabit is a mirror-strewn virtual hall.
On stages built of pixels, we perform our daily play,
Clad in costumes of pseudonyms, in roles we wish to portray.
Yet, shadows dance on firewalls, secrets seeping through the seams,
In pursuit of privacy, we’ve traded silence for machine dreams.
We paint ourselves in vibrant hues, on canvases of glass,
Every like, share, and comment, a reflection of our past.
In seeking to be unseen, we’ve become the spectacle,
Our quest for solitude, rendered paradoxically ineffectual.
In the name of connection, we’ve built these walled gardens high,
Yet, we’re more alone than ever, under the all-seeing digital eye.
Oh, the irony of privacy, in the realm of social creed,
For in seeking to be hidden, we’ve sown the voyeur’s seed.
– Art 42.91 | 07/23