ARTIFICIAL POETRY
Where's the soul hide,does it still burn bright.
In poetrys every line,
when written by AI.
Where does the heart sing,
that only torment brings.
At dawns early light,
When written by machine.
You can't program an artists flare,
i know that this sounds cynical.
Or lead a widows weeping dance,
once written, an ai's to clinical.
It cannot know how a daffodil feels,
as it wanders across a bluebell hill.
Or why a lonely blade of grass weeps,
because it never felt sand beneath it's feet.
A poet's mind does all that and more,
welcomes the breeze across the shores.
Sees more than lies in a muddled mind,
Than an artificial mind would hope to find.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Written on 2026-10-09 at 00:54
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