AI is the limitation’s of the lost.
Those trying to create a poem at any cost.
Files and files of poetic info to chose from but all that stuff has all been done!
Recreated to fit your form, smoke and mirrors of a storm.
But a true poet knows,
the muse and the memes are connected to the soul!

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…
They bloom without question,
Then vanish in rhythm.

No one ever sees the final surrender,
Its quiet return,
The sky’s last tear—
The ground’s soft ache.

But fall is not a loss—
It is rest,
A pause,
A stillness
Holding the shape of return.

While Love, unnamed,
Waits in the marrow of time,
Ready to rise
When nothing expects it.

Be a poem, O’ Prettiest, not mere breath—
A song that lingers past life and death.
Not dust in the wind, nor fading light,
But verses born of truth and might.

Do not doze in slumber’s keep,
While dreams like stars in silence sleep.
Be the lamp that greets the morn,
The spark from which the soul is born.

Within your veins a rhythm flows,
A secret only silence knows.
Time bears a tune that waits in you—
A golden song, eternal, true.

Kindle your core, let spirit rise,
For heaven sees through watchful eyes.
Be not a whisper lost to air,
But voice of fire, bold and rare.

You are no myth, no fleeting flame—
But sacred blaze none dare to tame.
If storms of time you do not bind,
Then be the tide that stirs mankind.

This world’s a stage, a shifting mist—
Be its refrain, O’ Prettiest.
A cry, a kiss, a sacred sign—
The mirror where all truths align.

Ask not the worth of your own name—
You are the self, the living flame.
Be melody the soul reveres,
Love’s voice that echoes through the years.