The Wisdom of the Forgotten Password

Hidden behind a row of asterisks,
sleeps the key, a code that veils
access to other selves, an ancient villa
of bits and dreams the mind conceals.
It is no spite, nor subtle game,
just an oblique filter, a black fire
that the weary memory cannot unveil.

It is a silent teacher, shield without voice,
that slows the impulse, the hasty click.
It teaches the limit, the path less cruel
of serene restart, of restful pace.
It is no blind obstacle, but a subtle dike
to a river of information, to a false style
of connected life, increasingly perilous.

A digital silence imposes,
a truce to the clamor of the screen.
It forces doubt, humble reflection,
to rebuild a pact, a new pattern.
Perhaps its gift is revealing the fake,
the urgent need, being pushed
to navigate always, in its fixed dilemma.