Echoes of the Last Algorithm

The sky hums lower broken cord. A flicker burns

where stars once soared. I hear the hum of wires sigh.

This is how the world will cry. Neon rivers flood the ground.

A pulse of cold, the only sound. The last algorithm sings our

fate. No gods, no angels, just lines of data.

It counts us down to the final spark. In the glow

of the endless dark. Metal trees rise from the ash. Their roots hum

secrets of the past. A ghost in the cloud whispers my name.