The Dilapidated Temple of Code

We gathered, wide-eyed, from every shore,
Hearts ablaze with drive, hungry for more.
A sleepless boss from the land of dawn,
Honest as steel, though ragged, worn.

The office groaned, a crumbling shell,
Its walls could scarcely the story tell.
But from those cracks, ambition grew,
A garden fed by the morning dew.

Investors whispered: faster, higher,
So new hands came with borrowed fire.
A CTO with a brighter scheme,
Colliding hard with the old guard’s dream.

Then strode a prophet, sharp and grand,
Declaring waste in all we’d planned.
But when the weight of truth pressed in,
He built the maze he’d once called sin.

The twenty percent, the vital flame,
The doers left, but none to blame.
Their quiet craft, their sleepless nights,
Were traded for buzzword-ridden heights.

The halls refilled with eager new,
Repeating mistakes as old as dew.
AI crowned as the promised cure,
Yet hope grew brittle, no longer pure.

But gods of code are fickle, sly,
They gift a crumb, withhold the sky.
Ten percent delivered, ninety denied,
A Brothers Grimm tale codified.

So here we stand, among the dust,
Chasing growth, because we must.
The cycle spins, both cruel and bold—
A story of tech, forever retold.