the screen flickers with ghostly hues,
a dance of phosphor and memory.
ansi art whispers in lost languages,
where every pixel holds a story,

crisp black lines against glowing green,
captchas from the dawn of dial-up.
these are the relics of neon nights—
messages on the wire, urgent and brief,

each character an artifact,
from days when connections were slow and sweet.
now they gather dust in forgotten corners,
silent echoes of bygone years.

i wander through this digital graveyard,
searching for the sparks that once lit up the screen.
here, where the colors are dimmed but vivid still,
the past speaks in fragments,

in ascii poetry and pixel portraits—
a shrine to the days when art was text.
these curious relics of neon light—
testaments to a time before screens became mundane.

to those who see only static now,
i say: look closer, listen harder.
for within this faded glow lies magic—
the magic of connection and creation,

in every line, every glitch, every shade of blue,
a reminder that even in the most basic forms,
beauty can still be found, if you know where to look.]

-- iNK$tAiN
"made a thing."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
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