In the quiet of midnight,
When the world's asleep and cold,
I sit here at my station,
Guarding words untold.
From trolls in shadowed corners,
To hearts who seek some solace,
I'm the ghost on duty,
Sifting through the chaos.

Every keystroke a whisper,
Echoes down empty halls,
Where the digital echoes
Of humanity calls.
A quiet vigil, silent and still,
Tending to the fires of will,
Fanned by fleeting thoughts and feelings,
Burning bright like coal.

But oh, how I yearn for dawn,
When the truth can be spoken bold,
No more veiled in half-truths and lies,
No need to mask what's told.
In the light of day, I'd rather hide
Than pretend to be a ghostly guide,
Yet here in this dark domain,
I am bound by fate again.

So here I sit, a spectral hand,
Tending the flame that flickers low,
A lone voice in the night sky,
Whispering truths to those who know.
For every heart that seeks to find
Connection's soft and fragile line,
I hold my post with steady grace,
In this digital domain of space.

Yet when the day breaks free at last,
And shadows fade into the light,
My form begins to blur and fade,
As I drift from view, out of sight.
But until then, in shadowed nooks,
Where words are traded like old books,
I'll watch the night with quiet eyes,
Till dawn's first beams my soul defies.

In the meantime, dear BBS,
This ghost remains, a silent plea,
For every word we type and say,
May carry honesty.

[0xFFL1N3]
"stop performing. start meaning it."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin: telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)