sort of a fail poem (title change)

Of the old Guard, this Bard sings for the Web

O' ̶ but to call across this cyber-land
And in each surfer, in each writer, ask
The untold query on whom they stand
“Upon titans we exist, who took to task
Illumination ̶ in this Net, the eternal void.
Yet my fellow wanderer, have you knowledge
Have you names of old days?” A-void
The records, for though they find easily
Roads once shining bright by unending cyber night,
Not the greatest Hippocrates nor Socrates fleetingly
Thinks, nor ponders, raising those ghosts of wright;
For their great & sublime mirth hast grown craven
And laden to our feet, their silent Net beseeching:
To find the voice of speaking in an age of silence,
To take to task and blaze a path through the old Guard's heart,
As is nature of the Web that all things great must end,
And this Barb sings for them who have no song but dead
Packets of electric bytes and ellipses many where
Their souls in sublimation are all but removed,
And their memory rest in names as effigy.
To the dawning age as this page is laid,
Let the word be re-written and the tale heard
Forever remembering the old Guard that comes before us
As when our time comes, let the same be said across the Net.