The Web We Weave
By Krysten Stein
Once a thread, spun thin and free,
A promise of what could come to be,
A place where art and minds could meet,
And digital dust danced at our feet.
We dreamed in code, built worlds from light,
Each pixel pulsed with endless flight,
But now the net, a tangled vine,
Holds tight our work, our hearts, our time.
What once was wild is now contained,
A marketplace of minds constrained,
Each post, each thought, now bought and sold,
The web of dreams feels dark and cold.
Yet still we craft, despite the bind,
New futures shaped by hand and mind.
In pockets small, in cracks of night,
We spark the flames, we fan the light.
For though the net may strain and twist,
Its origins we can’t dismiss—
A space once free, now fought to save,
Where art, like water, finds its way.
Let’s weave again with purpose clear,
New patterns free from greed and fear,
And in the web’s vast shifting sea,
Reclaim the space for you and me.
