The Race

A Poem about AI

Photo by José Martín Ramírez Carrasco on Unsplash

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The Race

“If you’re not using it, you’re behind!”
I hear from someone passing by.
I know full well what they’re talking about,
for they have that familiar, assured shout
that has surely discovered the purpose of life.

I know, it’s of course, about AI,
that we all should use it or irrelevant die—
a soft little whisper as we fade out
on the path of the forgotten, the outdated route
where our dreams are untouched as we die.

But I wholeheartedly reject this lie,
or at least understand that it’s not do or die,
for what exactly are we behind on here?
The glory of hastening production dear?
A chance to create artificial tides?

Ah this may be true, but it’s not our why— 
not our purpose for living and enjoying life.
Production is only as good as the gears
that we use to create and use to steer
toward our true purpose to glorify.

So make haste, make haste, and keep your pace,
but keep in mind there is another race.
The one to the cold arms of a tool unbridled,
another in a long list of temporal idols,
and the other to a Father's enduring embrace.

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