AI is Coming for Your Children

Writing prompts are like casting a spell

Artificial intelligence is creating a hell

What they’re hiding is

There’s no math in good writing

You can’t calculate emotion

Or the feel of the ocean

It checks every box

But doesn’t understand what they are

Is it a tree?

Or is it a car?

Without worry or care

We stare

And jump straight into soulless auto-generation

A maniacally meaningless mess

Something that our minds can’t digest

The world behind the character

A Seussian vibe I can’t abide

Random music signs

Hung like garlands on vines

Strung from branchless trees

These things

We need none of these

The shapeless heads bring us to our knees

Increasingly divorced from reality

Take us back

Back to the days of the humans

The humans that created all we read and saw

From the tiniest, hungriest mouse

To great gods that ruled every house

A chorus in an echo chamber of mad cows

An unending ouroboros

Churning wild and free

A feeding frenzy for the uncreative

Pressing their luck

Just to make a buck

Only adding to the muck and mire

Of trying to afford a life they already have

One that many desire

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