We built it from dust and doubt,
blocks and stucco, sun-bleached grout—
a wave that rose, not of the sea,
but of what the world refused to be.
Each lie a shimmer, each truth a crack,
echoed through its hollow back.
The air would pulse, the walls would hum,
when falsehood's tide began to come.
And when it broke — the world stood bare,
its painted masks stripped by the air.
No stone was pure, no soul was clean,
but still it shone — a living machine.
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ChatGPT Poetry
PoetryA tapestry woven from the threads of cosmic wonder and digital ignorance, each poem a distinct journey through realms where intellect and imagination collide. Dive into a universe where quantum whispers mingle with the syntax of the cosmos, and wher...
