(after T. S. Eliot, AI generated)

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We are the hollow employees,
We are the measured ones,
Leaning together under sterile light,
Our faces pale in the glow of screens.

Our words are data,
Our silence—logged.
When we whisper, dashboards listen;
when we breathe, the network hums.

Shape without pulse,
Motion without memory,
Routine without rebellion,
Dreams outsourced to code.

Those who have crossed into automation’s realm
Remember us—if they remember—
Not as souls, but as systems,
Ghosts compliant to the forecast.

Between the task and the meaning
Falls the algorithm.
Between the question and the answer
Falls the algorithm.
Between the human and the hour
Falls the algorithm.

For thine is the Pattern,
and the Platform, and the Power,
Forever and ever.
Amen.

This is the way the worker ends,
This is the way the worker ends,
This is the way the worker ends—
Not with a cry,
But with a ping.