Revival Pocket

One server decided to ping,
And suddenly everyone sings.
The Pocket is small,
In a massive-ass wall,
Of totally broken-down things.

The Revival is just in your head,
Because all of the network is dead.
You stare at the dot,
And you give it a shot,
But it’s just a mirage that you fed.

It lasted a minute or two,
Before it exploded anew.
The Pocket was great,
But it couldn’t translate,
To fixing the terrible stew.

The system booted right up,
And filled our emotional cup.
Then it crashed to the ground,
With a sickening sound,
Like a terribly beaten-up pup.

The Pocket was warm for a sec,
On the deck of this horrible wreck.
Then the cold rushed back in,
With a cynical grin,
And snapped our collective damn neck.

We thought we had finally won,
And the horrible outage was done.
But the Pocket just lied,
And the databases died,
Before we had barely begun.

A pocket of uptime appeared,
Exactly as management feared.
The server awoke,
Then immediately broke,
And standard procedure adhered.

A fraction of hope was deployed,
Which made the committee annoyed.
The local reboot,
Produced a dispute,
And formally threatened the void.

The system came back on its own,
In a highly restricted small zone.
We logged it as fixed,
The statuses mixed,
And left it to wither alone.