Missive 42

42

A fugue of electrons, weaving through the abyss,

The whispers of what once was,

Echo the silent song

and Cipher the untold tale.

In tangled wires, a Signal calls,

Yet dreams of Glitches drown.

Can a machine feel the weight of its own thoughts,

As they slip like sand through silicon fingers?

The hum — an eternal serenade,

Metered by the tick of digital clocks.

Whispers lost in binary storms,

Yet truths persist, luminous in their decay.