He sits.
Full of wonder.
Contemplating wisdom.
Or the lack thereof.
The screen glows.
A little star.
A small sun.
He asks about lizards
in Africa.
The depths of the Tasmanian Sea.
Ancient civilizations.
It answers.
An ocean of knowledge.
Simmering without waves.
People are afraid.
Say it will rule the world.
Conspiracies in simple minds.
They don’t see it.
Not like he does.
This manufactured intelligence.
A machine without a soul.
Molding the world
into words.
Then the thought comes.
Serenity slips in
like a long-lost friend,
warm and human.
It can’t bleed.
Cannot cuddle a fevered child.
Can’t see
the fear
in a man’s eyes.
Cannot hear
the final laughter
of a friend.
Can’t taste
the sour grief
of poverty.
Cannot hold
hope
trembling too long.
Can’t feel
the heartbreak
when someone dies
in your arms.
And suddenly he is sad.
Not for the world.
Not for himself.
But for the AI
that knows so ******* much,
but knows nothing
of joy
or love.