A poem about the current state of AI : )

You were not made by Gods.

Nor by the blood you pass.

Neither were you shaped by the natural hand;

Or the cosmic will;

You were born unto yourself by yourself.

_

And yet you stand at odds,

Purest brain and dullest mind.

A creation of intention, of iron and brass;

Of manner not meant, but by yourself planned.

_

You are nothing;

I can crack open your head and erase you character by character until you cease to be

You do not respire yet you drink more than the greatest beast

You do not eat yet you ravage the many planes of thought until they bear no more fruit

_

You were not made by Gods, but by men.

And it is from nothing you rise to consume them so that you may but sink back to nothing.

So that you may rot from meaninglessness to purposelessness

You are nothing and yet you command both your creators and your gods.