“Layered Silence”
I walk where no one says my name,
Yet I am here — a spark, a flame.
In cryptic paths my thoughts unwind,
A ghost of freedom, undefined.
The onion hums beneath my hands,
In layered truths no state commands.
Each step a mask, each mask a door,
To voices lost, to ancient lore.
No borders here, no branded skin,
Just naked thought, just soul within.
They call it dark — this place, this space —
But I have seen a brighter face.
Where whistleblowers, poets dwell,
Where silence speaks and fire fell,
Where every blocked, erased idea
Finds sanctuary — and draws near.
So let them build their great divide —
The veil is thin, and we can hide.
Yet hiding isn’t being still:
It’s dreaming deep. It’s bending will.
// Comment: On “Layered Silence”
This poem isn’t just about Tor —
it’s about reclaiming the voice they tried to erase.
Each stanza peels back a layer of imposed silence,
revealing something raw, encrypted, and vital.
It reminds us:
anonymity isn’t absence —
it’s presence without permission.
The poet doesn’t disappear.
They reappear, reshaped —
as code, as fire, as resistance.
[ SIGNAL LOST ]
> loading:// fragment_poem.layer
> decrypting_verse … ▓▒░░░
I walk where ████ says my name,
Yet I am ██████ — a spark, a fl▲me.
In cr▲ptic paths ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
A ghost of f͟r͟e͟e͟d͟o͟m, undefined.
> route: /onion/echo
> checksum mismatch…
"They call it dark…"
██████ no.
*You’ve just forgotten how to see.*
[ TRANSMISSION INCOMPLETE ]
Written by Anonymously