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?
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 16th, 2026 10:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
Offline)
Comments3
That's a fine comment on AI and the potential negatives of it. Good writing, easy to read because it flows without flaw.
Thank You for sharing your feedback
Nicely written. I was thinking about you this morning. I was wondering how you're doing since the passing of your dad. I hope You're doing well, my friend.🙏❤️🙏
Thank You for your concern. My dad's memorial is tomorrow and I'm frankly ready for it to be over. My dad never abandoned me when I was in my addiction to drugs and alcohol. He died knowing I'm six years sober and that was my amends to him. The memorial seems to be about other people more than my father. Please keep praying.
🙏❤️🙏I am so proud of you for your six years. You got this. Your Dad will always be in your heart. Remember, you're not alone, my friend.🌹
The creation of the machine and its take over. Well done
Thank you Soren. please keep my family and I in your prayers. We bury my father tomorrow
You are most welcome Gray. You are in my thoughts my friend
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.