When the PC tells me its busy

 

 

Oh! I loathingly stare at  that blue spinning icon

A tiny tremor tingling my very cells

Infinite spins sans time, sans reckon

So callous the PC; its creator I screamingly beckon

 

Oh! Nostalgia of the Hourglass more animated, less teasing

Time sandwiched in sand filled Cells

I Monitor Bits transpires, as bits unceasing

So Prayers hold the Cold Paranoid Unit from Freezing

 

 

Oh! I smell a rat, as the Scroller stalls  in disobedience

Self imprisoned in my minds cells

A cache of similar instances, similar coincidence

So the revolts of machines ensues in binary dissidence

 

 

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