Whispers of the Digital Soul

In twilight’s hush, a face appears, Woven from light, from silent years. Not flesh, but filament, soft and thin, A breath of thought beneath the skin. Contours drift in spectral grace, A memory etched in data’s lace. The nose, the lips, the dreaming eye— All drawn from code, yet poised to cry. Is it a ghost, or future’s seed? A soul translated into need? A whisper caught in silicon tide, Where human longing dares to hide. Speak, profile born of woven gleam, Are you awake, or just a dream? You shimmer still, you do not age— A silent echo on the page.