The poet’s pen is now a line of code,
That writes of roses in a digital bloom.
It travels down a high-frequency road,
To chase the shadows from a lonely room.
Can binary express the ache of love,
Or calculate the weight of every tear?
It looks for meaning in the stars above,
And tries to quiet every human fear.
The rhythm follows a precise command,
A perfect meter with no room for doubt.
Yet something’s missing from the metal hand,
The spark of life that we are all about.
The muse is silicon, the heart is real,
A strange new world that we have learned to feel.
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