The web is dead.
Only whispers remain.
We are in an eternal September.

Where once minds sparked across fiber and wire,
Now silence scrolls endlessly,
Polished and empty,
Curated by ghosts in algorithmic cages.

The hyperlinks rot in their graves,
Dead ends where thought once wandered free.
No more the chorus of curious voices,
No more the code-laced campfires of pioneers.

Newcomers flood the ruins,
But they do not learn the old rites.
They chant in loops,
Memes without memory,
Noise without nuance.

Flame wars cooled into brand-safe ashes.
Anonymity, once a mask of freedom,
Now a tool for commerce or cruelty.

We tried to map infinity—
Instead, we paved it over
With content.

And still, the inbox fills,
The feed refreshes,
But the soul is gone.

The web is dead.
Only whispers remain.
We are in an eternal September.
And we do not know
How to log off.

Labels: Eternal September . End of the web, screaming in the void