Digital Fires Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A quiet hum, a distant sound,
Above the sky, a digital blue.
Where lines on screens redraw the ground,
And old ghosts wake, forever new.

No trumpets loud, no shining swords,
Just silent clicks through glass they fly.
Before the work, no spoken words,
Just whispers from a watchful eye.

The city glows with neon gleam,
While stars above keep vigil bright.
In sterile rooms, a chilling dream,
Decides who lives and who must fight.

It's not just dust or broken stone,
Or cities falling in the night.
It's in the hum, the static known,
And every beat with all our might.

We chase for oil, for truth, for might,
In wars where faces disappear.
As time looks on, a fading light,
We unmake us, year by year.

A modern touch on ancient land,
On fragile wires, our world is strung.
One slip in logic, close at hand,
And digital fires are fiercely flung.