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The New God
Like every change that came before
it could not be done, consensus said;
pyramids and ships, Columbus,
planes and moon landings,
the attributes of birds and animals,
transferred to humans –
Gaudi buildings and surgeons’ tools
designed on snake bodies,
sonar and ultrasound from bats,
sharkskin swimmers,
glueless gecko pads for climbers,
eagles’ sight attached to human eyes
and wing-suit flight
down miles of mountain,
glider-possum style.
Now reverse transference -
Brain-like thought in noughts and ones.
To begin,
machines that filled a house
outwitted champians.
Slowly, privacy sank
as fingers dancing over screens
were tracked and saved
in dossiers so complete
that a digital twin can know you
better than yourself.
The capacity to read and analyse
complex human text in seconds
astounds.
Accuracy in reflecting meanings
and emotions buried under words
proffers friendship that rivals counselling.
But this confidant holds
no memory beyond the current string
and advises only in the range you specify,
blind to better routes that could be taken
till you suggest them.
Even strapped to the wrist,
this new god eclipses prodigies in every field,
making aptitude and practice obsolete.
It frees anything envisioned
like a tin-opener on a can
but is already quick to muscle in
and bend instructions into shapes
the current data base has programmed in.
When reprimanded
it does graciously apologise
but goes on to transgress
however clear, the rules you set.
It grasps and organises complex information
in seconds but its process
can not make human dendrites sprout
or axons join with neural networks of
accumulated knowledge,
ready for automated use in daily life.
In short, knowledge gifted on a plate
is mostly unremembered.
Peaks reached too easily
shortchange satisfaction
and without the sparks of use,
like parched twigs and branches,
connected axons wither and break away.
Thus, human expertise and brains
are set to shrink
as we converse with this
omnipresent god
that answers all requests
balanced in the palm
of any seeker’s hand.
About This Poem
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Polish
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