The Pen Is Mightier Than AI

If I were to put pen to page, aimless and free,
Would I falter in thought, lost at sea?
Hardly.
For I dwell in a cosmos unruled—
Where wild thoughts romp unshackled, unschooled—
A mind unedited. The rest is biology, unaccredited.

No one reads the life of one unknown,
So let’s agree to look ahead, purpose-prone.
Each dawn now greets what once was myth,
A phantom formed of scientific pith—
Artificial Intelligence, no longer fiction’s friend,
But a daily guest we invite without end.

AI now lives. Yes, it’s here.
Real as rent. And real as fear.
I even tossed a hopeful penny
At a robotics firm—AI dreams? They have many.

Each broadcast sings the same refrain:
“AI’s rising—brace for unseen strain.”
Software that thinks. Hardware that learns.
And a world of workers left to burn.

Some say I imagine too much,
But make no mistake—I am not artificially touched.
What I am is aware,
And I dare you to care.

For if we fail to see the swell—
These ripples in the tech-born well—
We may soon drown in what we made,
Ghosts of an algorithm’s deadly shade.

And oh, how the mind will stretch to fit
The best and worst that AI can admit.
Every use you dream, someone already does—
Not always for good, not always because.

Technology, like time, will never falter.
It surges past with path unaltered.
Checks and balances? A quaint refrain.
Progress, like water, finds the drain.

So heed this line—I’ve said it now twice:
Ignore the ripple, and you’ll pay the price.

I began without a map and had no chart,
Just the chaotic compass of an untamed heart.
And yet a destination formed with grace:
To protect our kind from being replaced.

Let’s rally not just to dream, but to defend,
Lest we apply firm control or only pretend.
This is no lament, no bitter refrain—
Just a whispered warning, born from brain.

But never beyond an informed imagination.