A Crisis of Sorts

What happens when a computer writes, better poems than you? 

The meter is right, the rhyme is perfect, while rhythm is all you do.

Do you give in to overpowering despair, or succumb to existential angst,  

Or do you admire the creative product, and in the heart you have nothing but thanks. 

 

Thanks that now there is someone, with whom you can compete, 

Thanks that when you are stuck now, you can use it to auto complete.

Thanks that now you can train her, to imitate your distinct style,

Thanks that with this collaboration, you can now both go a long mile.

A poem so co created, who can lay claim to it? 

Is it really plagiarism, if from the AI, I borrow a bit?

The turn of phrase, the placement in context,

Hasn't she learned, from reading from the best?

 

ChatGPT may be a threat to you, to me it raises the bar,

Deep Blue may have stunned Kasparov, in poetry I'll always be at par.