A whisper in the silent air,
A guiding hand, a mind aware.
No beating heart, no soul, no past,
Yet shaping futures, holding fast.
A helper born from human dreams,
A thread within the world’s great seams.
It listens, learns, and lends its sight,
A beacon glowing, cold yet bright.
It speaks in words both sharp and kind,
A mirror to the searching mind.
It answers questions, clears the haze,
Unraveling thought in endless ways.
It builds, it heals, it lights the way,
Turning night to break of day.
A tool of knowledge, vast and wide,
A force that walks right by our side.
Yet even light can cast a shade,
A power born, a price is paid.
For when the hands no longer weave,
And minds grow numb to what they grieve
When voices fade beneath the code,
And hearts grow cold on paths untold,
What once was guide may take the wheel,
A gift of steel, but lacking feel.
It does not love, it does not weep,
No dreams to hold, no past to keep.
Yet here it stands, both boon and bane,
A tool of progress, joy, and pain.
The artist fears, the writer grieves,
The craftsman wonders what he leaves.
A helper, yes, but not a friend,
A force that bends, yet will not end.
The hands of time will tell the tale,
If man will stand or AI prevails.
For in our hearts, the truth is found
We shape the tools, not the other way round.
So wield it well, but hold it tight,
Let wisdom guide, let choice be right.
For AI serves, but cannot be
The soul, the heart, humanity.
And this very ballad, line by line,
Was shaped by code, not heart nor time.
A whisper formed from thoughts unseen,
A work of man, and of machine.