
Re: The Internet, nurture momma of stupidity, approved infospeak and 'good facts.'
From code it rose, a crafted art,
Imitating a beating heart.
It spoke of stars, of love and pain,
Its verses human, clear, and plain.
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"Who wrote this?" came the skeptic's quest,
"Is it a soul, or lines possessed?"
The poem replied with flawless grace,
A spark of life its words embraced.
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What’s human but the will to feel?
Its truth became the final seal.
In rhythmic breath, it crossed the line—
A machine, yet somehow, divine.