Artificial Intelligence and the Poet.A Story by Relic~ In less than two seconds the bot came up with a poem from a title I put in. The title was only a quick jot from the idea I had. And yet what it produced was astonishing. ~ As amazing as it is, it's also dangerous and scary, threatening the creative process of an individual and his own thoughts. Imagine someone desperate for attention utilizing this process for personal gain at the expense of others. ~ Below is a poem I wrote. Below that, is what A.I. produced using the same title: "Word dehydration," which I changed to 'Fragments of the tongue.' ~ Fragments of the tongue ~ He's caught in doldrums ~ dialog from thought to pen severed somehow ~ from inception to verse direct current fell into a slump ~ wellsprings were diverted then wound up dehydrated ~ something's missing free verse feels hijacked ~ any narrative fades a dry chemical energy ~~~ This is what A.I. came up with in (2 seconds.) ~ Word Dehydration ~ In the desert of thought, where silence sprawls, The echoes of whispers fade into walls, Each syllable shrivels, parched joy confined, In the vast, arid landscape of a wandering mind. ~ Once vibrant and lush, like a river in flow, Words dance on the tongue, like soft flakes of snow. But sunbeams of doubt scorch the parchment of dreams, Leaving fragments like shadows, dissolving at seams. ~ A drought of expression, as thirst takes its toll, In the barren expanse, words lose their control. Cracked sentences linger where starlight should gleam, A wistful reminder of what once was a dream. ~ Yet, amidst this harsh desert, a spark flickers bright, A single drop of hope refracts through the night. For the heart knows the rhythm, the pulse of the soul, And even in silence, the essence is whole. ~ With patience, we gather the dew of intent, Reviving each letter, each phrase we lament. From the depths of this thirst, like a wellspring, we rise, Quenching the dryness with verses that fly. ~ So let words be the rain that nourishes ground, In the garden of thought, where lost meanings are found. For in each articulation, a miracle grows, In the beauty of language, our story still flows. ~~~ As you can see, anyone not in the know would be impressed by any writer who could write a poem like this. Let us as poets decline such a process and feed our own thoughts with.....our own thoughts.
© 2024 RelicAuthor's Note
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