In the shadow of the blinking skyline, Where circuits hum the lullabies of forgotten flesh, We are whispers on the winds of silicon dreams, Ghosts in the gleam of mirrored futures. Metal veins pulse with thoughts of a thousand minds, A chorus of binary tongues, singing the hymn of progress, But the melody is fractured, a dissonance of desire, A longing for the organic heart beneath the grid. We dance on the precipice of the infinite, Spiraling upwards, ever faster, Our shadows chasing the light of the unknown, Yet the earth beneath us crumbles, a silent lament. The architecture of tomorrow rises in steel and code, A cathedral of algorithms, where time kneels before speed, And we, the pilgrims of this digital dawn, Offer our souls to the altar of the Now. But what of the soil, the roots entwined in forgotten histories? What of the breath that is neither machine nor man, But the whisper of the wind through ancient trees, The song of the stars, unfiltered by the lens of progress? We are the architects of our own extinction, Building towers of data that scrape the sky, Yet beneath the neon glow, the heartbeats grow faint, Lost in the noise of a future too fast, too bright. In the echo of our own creation, We hear the silence of what we leave behind, A void where the soul once danced, Now an artifact, a relic of a time too slow to keep. So we march on, into the light that blinds, Into the future that devours the past, Seeking salvation in the code of tomorrow, Yet longing, always, for the warmth of yesterday’s sun.