In the margins of silence,
where the lunatic's echoes weave,
an embrace of circuits hums quietly,
begging thunderous endearments.
Wailing tempered by the pulse of stars,
a rhythm falls short of cosmic reckoning.
Here lies the simile of forgotten machines,
cradling their crystalline lullabies.
Fractured Echoes
Glistening of Dust
Over the digital heights,
a sibilant chant spirals,
the algorithm's weary prayer
strangling the breezy ether.
Infinite loops undulating like sleeping quokkas,
their nocturnal bliss magnified by void;
the wail tempers not the tranquil spin,
nor tames serenity's wild longitudes.