In the shadowed lanes of the digital age,
where bits and bytes conceal what’s tangible,
invisible hands steer the ceaseless surge,
filtering chaos, a daily struggle,
moulding the ether into a safe harbour.
Their eyes gaze upon the world’s parade,
holding the line against tides of strife,
what they permit through is a carefully played
symphony of silence, cut from the noise of life.
Moderators: guardians of the online masses.
With each click, a decision heavy with weight;
behind the screens, the human toll mounts.
Balancing the scales of hate and distressing content,
in this digital realm where context counts,
they labour unseen, in tech’s deep void.
For the users: a veil of safety in every scroll,
a space cleansed of venom, where calm can reign.
This curtain, woven by silent souls,
shields the vulnerable, soothes their pain.
Without these guards, chaos would surely overflow.
This chain forged from codes and quiet sighs,
between the seen and unseen threads.
Every piece is of a puzzle. Watchful eyes sort
seeds from invasive spreads,
crafting a narrative that’s clean, preserving sanity’s glow.
And so they weave through the web’s wide net –
custodians cloaked in the anonymity of their task.
While algorithms learn and profit targets are met,
It’s the human touch that wears the mask,
moderating for the unseen world.
