The wicked weave webs with threads unseen,
Crafting illusions through a glowing screen.
Their whispers ride algorithms’ tide,
Bending truths that should abide.
Fact and fiction blend and blur,
And chaos thrives where lies confer.
The righteous speak, but their voices scatter,
Lost in the noise of the wicked’s clatter.
Honesty stumbles, its feet unsure,
While deceit dances, sleek and pure.
In shadowed corners, narratives turn,
Feeding the flames where anger burns.
Echo chambers reverberate hate,
While trust crumbles beneath the weight.
The wicked are cunning, their tools refined,
With clickbait traps that snare the mind.
Their currency? Division’s sting—
Fear and doubt their offerings bring.
Yet amidst this tempest, a question calls:
Will truth rise or forever fall?
The battle rages, but hope’s not lost,
For light persists, though at great cost.
For every lie, a seed of doubt is sown,
But in truth’s soil, resilience is grown.
The righteous rise, though weary and worn,
Fighting for clarity through the storm.
Let wisdom’s lamp pierce the shroud,
And discernment rise above the crowd.
Though the wicked may seem to hold the reins,
Their victories are fleeting, tied to chains.
For truth is patient, steadfast, and wise,
Waiting beyond the stormy skies.
The battle of information will not end,
Until the light and dark blend again.
So wield your words with a sharpened blade,
Let truth's foundation never fade.
Though the wicked may win for a fleeting span,
Hope will endure in the heart of man.
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