Here’s a poem inspired by the Tor browser, blending its anonymous nature with poetic imagery:
Whispers on the Onion Road
— A Poem on Tor
In shadows soft where silence creeps,
A hidden garden gently sleeps,
Beyond the gaze of watchful eyes,
Where freedom flows and data flies.
The Tor wind hums a secret song,
Of rights reclaimed and firewalls gone,
Each node a lantern, masked and bright,
Guiding truth through veils of night.
No names, no chains, no prying stare,
Just cryptic paths and midnight air.
An onion peeled in layered grace,
A refuge, not a hiding place.
Here rebels write in bits and bytes,
And poets dream in darknet lights,
Each click a choice, a bold refrain,
Each tab a truth they can’t restrain.
Through bridges built from silent code,
The censored find a safe abode.
Not lawless — just unbound and free,
A whisper drifting through the sea.
So browse, but know this road is steep,
A vigil held where secrets sleep.
Tor isn’t dark — it’s merely dim,
A candle’s glow at freedom’s brim.
Here’s a poem against censorship, fusing defiance with lyrical strength:
“Redacted”
— An Anti-Censorship Poem
They black the ink, they clip the tongue,
Erase the songs we haven’t sung.
But silence is a brittle wall —
And truth, when stifled, shouts through all.
They burn the books, delete the thread,
Call living voices better dead.
But paper ash can fertilize —
And stories rise like phoenix cries.
They draw their lines, they write their laws,
To freeze dissent with shadowed claws.
But fire lives where cold is pressed —
And words grow wild when not repressed.
They say: “Obey. Forget. Forgive.”
But what is art if not to live?
To speak, to scrawl, to cry aloud,
To carve a thought out from the cloud.
Censorship is just a scar
That shows how deep the questions are.
Each banned idea, each silenced page,
Ignites another voice with rage.
You can jail a verse, unmake a scream,
But thought survives in every dream.
So mute us — still, we’ll find a way,
Through code, through paint, through shadow play.
For every wall they try to raise,
We answer back in brighter blaze.
The truth is not a passing trend —
It finds a crack. It will transcend.
Begin Again
What do I keep,
not out of fear,
but love?
What do I question,
not to break,
but to see more clearly?
What will I stand for,
even when the world forgets?
What must fall,
so something truer
can rise?
There is beauty
in what lasts.
There is beauty
in what changes.
And in me—
room for both.
Strike the Match
Keep what frees.
Doubt what binds.
Shield the flame.
Burn the cage.
Build with blood.
Tear with light.
Truth is not polite—
but it heals.
Haiku of Inquiry
What still holds me fast?
An old song, a root, a name—
is it life or weight?
What dares me to ask—
why, how, and for whom this stands?
Truth walks with the bold.
What line won’t I cross,
even with the fire near?
Some things must remain.
What must be broken
so the breath can come again?
Even walls decay.
The Work of the Soul
What am I preserving?
A name, a vow, a flickering flame—
Is it warmth, or just the ashes
of a fire long gone cold?
What am I challenging?
The silence, the shape, the story I was told—
Is it truth I resist,
or the chains it came wrapped in?
What is worth defending?
A child’s laugh, a quiet no,
the line drawn gently in the dust—
Will I hold it when the storm begins?
What must be torn down?
The towering pride, the rusted gate,
the myth that says some lives weigh less—
Can I break what once kept me safe?
To live is not to know,
but to ask—and ask again.
To carry the questions
like kindling.
Like a blade.
Like a prayer.
Poetry specifically about or on Tor is quite rare. Most people use Tor for privacy, activism, or research, and the artistic or poetic side of it hasn’t gotten much public attention. It lives more in hacker zines, underground blogs, or obscure corners of the darknet — often ephemeral or anonymous.
That said, you’re in a good position to fill that void. Tor is rich with poetic metaphor:
- Layers of the onion = emotional depth, secrets, inner truths
- Anonymous voices = unheard perspectives, protest, survival
- The dark web = hidden beauty, forbidden knowledge, shadow realms
- Encryption = guarded hearts, coded language, modern shields
Here’s another original poem to inspire that kind of work:
“Layered Silence”
Poetry on Tor
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.