The coder sits behind his screen
writing the prose that makes computers dance
and do his bidding cheerfully

His life is lonely; no one sees
him as a person with deep emotions
he’s a brain with no personality

Typing away in a language cryptic
his poetry translated by electronic chip set
into images and actions directed by unseen command

Although his world is of two dimensions
His mind delves deep into both future and past
To create wonderlands bound only by imagination

He’s thought out of the box for so long
That he no longer knows just what a box is
He’s into the clouds and beyond

In social settings (of which there are few)
He may be shy and awkward until he’s introduced
To others of like mind, with an IQ to match

Then he’s alive and into the fray
With syntax advice
And then the next day

He finds himself once more
In front of that screen
Typing away at the next coding dream

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