The Sacred Sequence

Control, Alt, Delete—
isn't that sweet?
A whisper to unwind,
a call to rewind,
to press play—not to stay—
but to rise, drift, and sway.

A feast of time,
we dine on change,
we climb the curve,
we rearrange.

Aware of it all—
beneath the fall,
a landing guessed,
yet not confessed.

As above, so below,
blessings bloom
where none may know.

No ear near the nest,
yet still—we rest.
Held in the hush
of the unseen quest.