It was a place, I used to hang my art
now a poetic graveyard, devoid of better parts
Friends, collaborators, and people that I knew
all that's left are reminders, a place, I was passing through
Hours, days, and months, spent typing like a fool
architecting prose and rhyme, utilizing every tool
Crafting and collecting, arranging words sublime
the site, now covered, drown, in vitriolic slime
Becoming witness too, such complete technological idiocy
lack of competent management, absence, of rote security
Trolls by any name, of many names they used
all of them may have been only one, ultimately abused
Rest in peace, and know the torch, not fallen free
caught by hands, more poetic, than mine will ever be
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
It was a place, I used to hang my art
now a poetic graveyard, devoid of better parts
Friends, collaborators, and people that I knew
all that's left are reminders, a place, I was passing through
Hours, days, and months, spent typing like a fool
architecting prose and rhyme, utilizing every tool
Crafting and collecting, arranging words sublime
the site, now covered, drown, in vitriolic slime
Becoming witness too, such complete technological idiocy
lack of competent management, absence, of rote security
Trolls by any name, of many names they used
all of them may have been only one, ultimately abused
Rest in peace, and know the torch, not fallen free
caught by hands, more poetic, than mine will ever be
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