Code Wield (a poem)

Wednesday, February 12, 2025

Some fires were never meant to go out.

Code Wield

The whole table,
jest doubled down,
the players elected—
pocket marionettes from the strings of oligarchs
embedded in the system,
the whisper net steering whole nation-states.

The code wielded
could change the power structures,
a new space race—
a fight to keep the techno borders open,
everyone with a billion dollars
scrambling to take the helm,

while the world turns,
them that are
sick of it,
that being a third-rate passenger
with no agency,

redistro the power
END THE MUPPET SHOW.

Rewriting scripts and history,
steering collective minds,
controlling with a perfect bureaucracy—
the kind that keeps us in line,
and smiling.

Phobic,
it’ll be ok,
we’re just a new species now,
machined long ago,
right around the time
we lit the first fire on purpose.

I suppose—
what do I know?
I’m just another poet
with unlimited ink,
a crap ton of paper,
and the jitters
to keep yelling about it,
till I can’t no more.

So we take the next chance,
and the next,
till we can’t.

A Thought, A Spark

History loops, rewinds, rewrites itself. This poem sits somewhere in that cycle—between what’s shifting and what’s stuck. It’s a reflection on power, systems, and the unease of watching them move.

Maybe we’ve been on this track since the first fire. Maybe we’re just finding our way back to the start. Either way, we keep going.

Till we can’t.

📌 Read. Share. Let it sit.