I spend some time with copilot and this is the result:
Upon a map of flick’ring light,
Where firewalls rise like rampart height,
Two wardens clad in ciphered mail
Did ride through circuits worn and frail.
One bore a sigil, firm and bright,
A seal of truth in cryptic rite;
The other held a lance of scan,
To pierce the veil of shadowed man.
Beneath their steeds, the troglodytes
Did crawl through folders lost to blight,
And relics, cursed with ancient code,
Lay buried deep in data’s road.
Above, the flags of packets torn
Did flutter like a ghost forlorn,
And whispers from the RAM-bound vale
Spoke of passwords grown cold and pale.
Yet lo — within a server’s keep,
Where silence coils and shadows creep,
A wraith did stir, with fingers thin,
A hacker veiled in digital sin.
No helm he wore, nor armor true,
But bore a charm of twisted hue:
An app disguised, a spell unclean,
A script of chaos, sharp and keen.
The wardens felt his crooked trace,
Not by scent, but by misplace —
By angles bent, by logs unround,
By logic’s cry, a broken sound.
They rode unto the cache-bound gate,
Where silence held the hand of fate,
And with a gesture, swift and grim,
They cast the wraith from system’s rim.
No clash of swords, no cry of war,
Just order, woven evermore —
In realms where not all souls are brave,
And some but seek a silent grave.
