They are servers who only stand and wait
Post over land and ocean without rest
Each singly. Thousands at their bidding pressed
Speed send/receive. Their humans accelerate
The in-tray workload, feed their programmed need
Blindly task the flat screens’ fleeting shadows,
Leave open still unread countless windows
That hold old news in limbo and new links breed.
The server, herewith their maker, presents
Correct with useless information packed
In daily scrolls clicks, feeble to prevent
Morphed overload. Half-blind their humans bent
At interface of this dark world are racked
Considering how now their life is spent.