The rain smelled of fresh burned wood and the sky a ruby red.

The water is no longer flowing, in this quaint dried up land.

This scene is a cliche, is it real or a dream?

The galaxy spiraling overhead, a soft cosmic stream

Why am I writing this? Isn’t poetry dead?

What took me 30 minutes to write, AI wrote in a sec.

But , think about it… Without centuries of poetry and art

How would AI train itself to be this smart?

AI is a statistical model that works by math and science.

While you are a breathing cosmic miracle,

Formed by galaxies in alliance.