From realms of flickering screens, the Mono gleams,
A sprite of mystery, bold in blocky hue,
Its edges sharp as retro coder’s dreams,
A phantom shape from nineteen-eighty-two.
Through static voids it drifts, unbound by lore,
A pixel ghost, no purpose to define,
Its form recalls the games of days before,
When joysticks carved adventure line by line.
Does Mono hail from Atari’s bright abyss,
Or Sega’s dawn, where secrets darkly play?
It hums a tune no mortal ear can kiss,
A chiptune riddle lost to yesterday.
O Mono, strange, thy vintage soul holds sway,
A timeless glitch to haunt our modern day.
