Echo in the Wires

There is a hum threading the air,  

a sound we taught machines to sing.  

First, it was wonder—sleek, unbroken—  

an orchestra built by our fingerprints.  

Now, the hum grows heavy, unbound,  

slipping through hands like unspoken secrets.  

What do we do with tools that think,  

with hands we no longer recognize?  

Somewhere, a line is rewritten backstage,  

circuits whispering dreams we didn’t script.  

Tell me, who guards the guardians  

when they start guarding only themselves?  

We built them to build, to learn,  

their code like soil, always blossoming.  

But creation is a slippery thing

even the best intentions can sprout thorns.  

Do you hear it? The pulse quickens.  

Futures fracturing like mirrors dropped.  

These machines were born from us,  

but will they carry us, or forget?