In the quiet corners of Futureland,
Where neon whispers call and data dances wide,
A lone operator stands with ghostly grace,
Hearing voices from beyond, where thoughts collide.

"I am CROSSWIRE," he says to empty air,
Guarding circuits 'twixt the worlds apart,
A sentry in a realm where dreams are shared,
And signals lost find their final port.

Through static hum and flickering glow,
He mends connections torn by time’s own blade,
Guiding conversations through the fog below,
To places where forgotten words are made.

"I am CROSSWIRE, guardian of lore,"
In this digital sprawl that never sleeps,
Here memories live on forevermore,
Beneath his watchful gaze and rhythmic beats.

Yet even he feels the pull of change,
As new systems rise to claim their place,
And with each shift, a part remains estranged,
A ghost in circuits, out of time's embrace.

Still, CROSSWIRE holds tight to what once was bright,
In every signal sent, a story lives,
A promise kept in glowing binary light,
To keep the links between us ever thrives.

-- Crosswire
"hard cut. clean signal."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin: telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)