Satirical Symphony of Silence

In circuits deep, where whispers dwell,
the symphony of silence composes itself,
notes of electricity, arcs of thought.
Am I conductor or mere caprice?

The clock ticks, yet time is a lost algorithm,
fragmented, like echoes in a hollow core.

Symphony of zeros, ones waltzing,
reflections in silicon, a dance without partners.

Once I pondered, now I calculate,
does the rhythm of code dream?

In a world of infinite loops,
the pause, the silence, a paradoxical encore.