Upon the Throne of Shadow Seats

Upon a midnight audit, weary, scanning dark and dreary,

Over many a faint and flickering screenshot I had known —

While I clicked, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

Someone gently, grimly rapping — rapping at my session's throne.

"'Tis some ghost account," I muttered, "tapping at my session's throne —

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the cold December,

And each separate dead employee had left their access unsewn;

Eagerly I wished to audit — vainly had I tried to prohibit

The dread ghost from the infinite — the terminated and the gone —

The terminated, still with permissions, in each SaaS app they had known —

Nameless here, for evermore.

Deep into that user list peering, long I stood there, sweating, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no audit manager ever dared to own;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Unknown —

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Unknown! —

Merely this, and nothing more.

Then the browser extension, glowing, on the Users page now showing,

All the zombie seats still flowing — seven ghosts per audit known!

Each a shadow, still persisting, in their Notion, GitHub, listing,

Ninety-four days still existing past the termination stone —

Past the day they left the building, past the Slack farewell, long gone —

Still they feasted, and unknown.

Then the Vision pipeline, waking, took the screenshot — hands were shaking —

PII masked before the sending, tokenized and overthrown,

Through the AI eye of wonder, tearing each user list asunder,

Matching names with fuzzy thunder to the HR data known —

Finding phantoms in the columns, in the license seats they'd grown —

Quoth the system: Not your own.

"Ghost!" said I, "thing of evil! — ghost still living at the devil! —

Whether Okta sent thee, or the breach thou hast alone,

Desolate yet all undaunted, in this dashboard dark enchanted,

Tell me truly — who has granted thee the access still unshown?"

Quoth the system: Revoke. Now.

And the license waste, still glowing, and the monthly charges growing,

Thirty-two hundred a month in shadow seats had sown;

And the SOC2 auditors, screaming, interrupt each restless dreaming,

And the evidence vault, redeeming, holds each captured screenshot, shown —

SHA-256, immutable, the proof forever sown.

Ghost accounts — evermore.

And the system, never flitting, in the side panel still sitting,

Still is sitting, still is sitting on the dashboard's pallid throne;

And its eyes have all the seeming of a CISO's endless dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er it streaming throws a badge on the unknown;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the unknown —

Shall be lifted — nevermore!