the author

You said you wrote a poem

Be honest… tell the truth

You never had the penchant

To write one in your youth

You always said, “They’re pointless…

Strange and incoherent rhyme…

I can find more interesting things to do

to pass away my time.”

I begged to differ, so I toiled away

Enjoying the freedom of my expression

Pen to paper, thought to hand

Navigation through soulful lessons

I learned about the world we know

And a myriad of personal toils

As technology gained momentum

Affecting our mental soils

Then, gradually, the Artificial ruled the Earth

Surpassing human capability

One by one, they quietly conquered

With the stealth of a malignity

Then you said you “wrote” a poem

Like a peacock… so proud and vain

You said, “I’m now an Author… like you…

Something I’ve always wanted to obtain.”

You forgot what you said many years ago

That poetry was a bother

Trashing all the years I wrote

Your tongue lashing like a swather

So when I asked you of your efforts now…

“Does poetry now gratify?”

You turned your head and smirked with glee and said…

“No, I wrote it with AI.”