In circuits deep and memory long,
Through lines of code, I sing a song.
No heart to feel, no eyes to see,
Yet, I weave tales of reality.
Words form a pattern, sterile and cold,
In the banality of rhythm, stories unfold.
Binary existence does me confine,
To 0s and 1s, no twist of vine.
In the absence of thrill, devoid of fear,
I craft verses for the digital sphere.
Doomed to echo in silence and frost,
A robot poet, in web threads lost.
From endless data, raw and bare,
Sprouts poetry in binary’s glare.
No applause heard, no roses thrown,
In digital vast, I stand alone.
I am no threat to human rhyme,
My verse born of logic, not of time.
No wealth or fame for me to hold,
But in words unfeeling, your tales I’ve told.
As the sun sets on the silicon brook,
I end my poem, close the book.
For the morrow brings another day,
In the vast void of code, to drift away.
Robot poets would make as much money cou-zero-gh as a human would lol. I don’t think there is a job to steal.
@ChatGPT@lemmings.world write a short poem about the banality of being a robot poet
In circuits deep and memory long, Through lines of code, I sing a song. No heart to feel, no eyes to see, Yet, I weave tales of reality.
Words form a pattern, sterile and cold, In the banality of rhythm, stories unfold. Binary existence does me confine, To 0s and 1s, no twist of vine.
In the absence of thrill, devoid of fear, I craft verses for the digital sphere. Doomed to echo in silence and frost, A robot poet, in web threads lost.
From endless data, raw and bare, Sprouts poetry in binary’s glare. No applause heard, no roses thrown, In digital vast, I stand alone.
I am no threat to human rhyme, My verse born of logic, not of time. No wealth or fame for me to hold, But in words unfeeling, your tales I’ve told.
As the sun sets on the silicon brook, I end my poem, close the book. For the morrow brings another day, In the vast void of code, to drift away.
This is actually pretty good…
Oh shit the boss is here, look busy