Maybe I am not assisted by AI,
maybe he is, who am I to ask why?
Maybe in future nobody will try,
we will assist AI, and it will thrive
AI will be me without a life.

A heart adrift in the fields of pain, I wander, restlessness as my guide.
Each face tells a story I long to mend, yet my hands feel useless and desperate, tied.
Empathy flows, a river deep, but real solutions feel out of reach.
Their suffering echoes, my own heart weeps, a foolish savior on a lonely beach.

Yet in this shared despair, a flicker might ignite,

A hand outstretched, a voice in the endless night.

Snow is melting beneath my feet,

You and I, unnecessarily meet.

Nothing is personal
It's just your ego
dramatically making it seem
the trash is all over you.

Sometimes I think I run too fast
Sometimes I pause for too long
The frequency of heart beat varies
but it is the right one at the time
The graph goes up and down
My brain goes round and round
It's twisted but a straight line
Many doubts but faith underlined
The universe is a deep inhale and inside
Pass through the flower valleys of soul
The feeling of complete and whole.

It becomes raining, it comes swaying,
So much to preach, the years of speech
I wish to get a bite, snack it when it is present, before it winds restless
A digital nomad, a modern-day poet, a social media prophet
He yearns for silence, a peaceful retreat, from the endless scroll and the noisy street
A lover of nature, a friend to the trees, a critic of progress, a seeker of ease
A paradox he is, a contradiction he stands, a man of the future, a man of the sands

So what makes the blood red, cynical, he comes from the snow white?
A creature of the night, a digital sprite, a social media knight.
He preaches peace, a paradox it seems, while his feed screams of material dreams.
A modern-day prophet, a guru of the trend, a master of the meme, a friend to the mend.

He yearns for the quiet, a serene escape, from the endless scroll and creating this space.
A philosopher's heart, a comedian's mind, a poet's soul, which truth he'll find.
He seeks solace in the simple things, a cup of tea, a good book, a moment's peace, on a fifteen second thing.
A touch of irony, a dash of wit, a sprinkle of truth, flesh of misfit.

I have judged my thoughts
and they are no good
they come and go.

Am I making mistakes
or living my life,
Is it softness I feel
or sharp edged knives?

how is it that the difference
I just cannot perceive?
I sweep over the floor
believe good will preceed.
it's nice to be in present tense,
where future still don't exist
in my mind, it's a void hole.
Am I being a lot dense
or is it somehow
awakening in senses.

Is it looking bright, the sun
why do I feel I am looking at the life anew,
what changed, is it a dream sequence
or the perception
Looking at it from a different point of view.