It's a place.
A sanctuary for those who've learned
To love the mysterious magic of
Thoughts arriving in mile-long strings
On roads of ether or wire.
Even more, it's peace,
A shield from the disordered sounds
Of traffic, angry people
And industrial clutter clatter,
Within its warm mantle
We find soothing respite.
And the patter of bright ideas it is,
The sharp focusing of others' thoughts
From miles beyond our vision's range,
As in a dream we sit so still,
It floats in our ears and stirs our minds
With concern, remembrance, speculation
And code is music,
From sounders and speakers it dances
In the shack to each sender's inner clock,
And comes butter-smooth, deliciously swinging,
Or choppy staccato from a "fist" praising definition,
Or perfectly metered, flowing exquisitely
From the gentle hand of an artist.
Code is more than dots and dashes.