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.
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