Beneath the keys and silent code, A whispered truth begins to load. No ink, no pen, no fragile page — Just blocks and chains, a poet's stage. Each line is forged in ether’s light, Time-stamped by miners in the night. No edits made, no words erased, My soul in hashes now encased. Collect me not for fleeting fame, But let the chain preserve my name. For when the servers fade and fall, This poem on-chain will outlive all. N.R