Echoes Remain

They used to burn the truth in piles,
Ink and parchment swallowed by flame,
But now it hides in fiber trails,
And whispers through a different name.

No longer chained to printing press,
It lives in code, in unseen streams,
In voices stitched through digital threads,
In midnight uploads, buried memes.

They built their towers high with fear,
Gold-lined halls and silken masks,
But couldn't crush what reappears
When silence fails to hold its grasp.

For every lie that's sold as law,
A song emerges from the cracks,
And in the static of their war —
it fights back.

So whisper low, or shout aloud,
Or carve it deep in stone or skin.

Kept in the F.A.I.R. archive. Nothing was asked of this piece. It was here, and something shifted because it existed.