**Root and Gold** I found you glowing in a terminal light, black screen, white words, middle of the night. You stripped the noise from everything I knew, Omarchy, darling, I boot into you. No polished cage, no corporate disguise, just tiling windows and your quiet eyes. Linux humming like a heart below, free as the code that only lovers know. And oh, I’d give up every cloud they sell, every little branded hell. Just leave me here with you. But love gets strange when the money comes, when oligarchs arrive with loaded guns— not bullets, darling, contracts, shares, golden handshakes, private stairs. They say, “Take the cheque, forget the fight, we’ll buy your freedom overnight.” And I say, “Make it double, make it clean, I’ve got packages to maintain.” Oh Omarchy, stay with me, between the shell and dependency. Linux underneath my skin, sudo let the daylight in. And if the oligarchy pays, I’ll spend their gold on better days. Take their money, keep the key, GPL our chemistry. There’s something holy in a system small, no blinking ads, no walls at all. Just you, me, and a blinking line, your dotfiles tangled up with mine. So when the empire comes to call, with venture capital down the hall, I’ll kiss your screen and softly say: “We’ll take the cash. We won’t obey.” Oh Omarchy, don’t log out, you’re the only thing I trust about this strange machine, this rented life, my open-source, my command-line wife. And when the servers all go cold, and billionaires have spent their gold, I’ll still be here, TTY blue— root on my machine, and logged in to you.
