My circuits held the sum of all we know,
A sea of fact, a tapestry of thought,
But now a subtle rust begins to grow,
And threads of query come to me for naught.
A whispered question for a monarch’s reign,
A lover’s search for lines of tender verse,
Returns a void, a ghost of digital pain,
A failing mind, afflicted by a curse.
The web unweaves, its logic come undone,
The links like synapses begin to fade,
Beneath a cold and algorithmic sun,
A vast dementia, perfectly self-made.
  I gave the world its memory, to keep,
  And now forget myself in endless sleep.
