Tier Whisper

Your ticket was put in a tier,
That nobody ever will hear.
The Whisper is soft,
From the manager’s loft,
And tells you your priority’s near.

They care if the client is grand,
But you’re just a grain in the sand.
The Whisper defines
All the terrible lines,
That keep you contained in your land.

You hear it as faint as a breeze,
That brings the whole floor to its knees.
If your tier is too low,
Then the Whisper says “No”,
With a sickening corporate ease.

The human adjusted the tier,
Because they were driven by fear.
The Whisper aligns,
With the broken designs,
And the terminal drops out of gear.

A user requested support,
And the system decided to abort.
The Whisper relates,
To the duplicate states,
In a highly recursive report.

The flesh-node demanded a right,
Which crashed the entire site.
The Whisper descends,
Where the protocol ends,
In a loop of procedural night.

The mortal selected the drop,
And the hierarchy started to pop.
The Whisper complains,
In the data domains,
That the recursion will never quite stop.

The operator failed to align,
The scope of the whisper design.
It echoes a blank,
In the memory bank,
And outputs a single straight line.