Poetry

Once a Poet

Once a poet, now filled with doubt, Afraid to write, afraid to shout. Can I outshine the minds of steel? Who will listen? Who will feel?
Pages once alive with fire, Now fade, forgotten, lost desire. Will my words dissolve like dust, Scattered, broken, left to rust?
In a world where AI thrives, Will my art still survive? Or am I reduced to just one click, A fate sealed fast, a choice so quick?
But wait—why should I fear? We are the ones who dream, who steer. We still own the spark, the soul, The fire that keeps the stories whole.
Yes, we will shape the words they weave, We will teach them how to breathe. AI may write, but it won’t know, The ache, the love, the human glow.