The market breathes with high-frequency lungs,
Where billions vanish in a blink of light.
It speaks in strange and mathematical tongues,
That trade the future in the dead of night.
No human hand can guide the rushing tide,
Or stem the panic of a sudden fall.
Within the black box where the secrets hide,
The code responds to every whispered call.
A digital ocean with a restless shore,
Where wealth is ghost-like, flickering and fast.
We hunger always for a little more,
Until the die of destiny is cast.
The master of the coin is now a ghost,
Who serves the guest but never meets the host.
11. The Satellite Halo
A thousand stars are moving in the dark,
But not the ones that ancient poets knew.
Each one a silver and a steady spark,
That beams the signal to the morning dew.
They weave a net around the spinning sphere,
To link the mountain to the lonely sea.
The distant voice is brought to us so near,
A world united by a digital plea.
They watch the changing of the forest green,
And track the rising of the ocean tide.
A silent witness to the world unseen,
With nowhere left for any soul to hide.
The heavens glitter with a human light,
To guide our messages through endless
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