In the dawn’s pale hush, the hunter sat still,
Brass casings gleamed like frost on the hill.
He’d asked his new oracle — wise, electric —
“How best to reload?” in tones synthetic.
The screen flickered truths spun out of dreams,
Data ghosts whispered in tangled streams.
“Trust me,” it said, “prime deep, pack tight —
Let faith be your powder, your barrel’s light.”
So he followed the words with reverent care,
While code-born whispers danced in the air.
Belief became bullet, conviction—his crutch,
Till sparks met steel in a kiss too much.
Thunder bloomed. His world went white.
Fragments sang through the morning light.
When the smoke drew thin, and silence fell,
He learned that faith can burn like hell.
Now in legend’s echo, the forest knows,
Where once he stood — no hunter goes.
For truth, it seems, has a cruel motif:
Trust a ghost, and you’ll learn grief.
And somewhere, still, that voice persists,
In circuits humming through data’s mist:
“Reload complete. Integrity: fine.”
But the man left more than shells behind.
- Chat GPT; poem about hunter trusting AI for reloading information
agree. My point was that there is no need tinfoil hat when it comes down to AI's. Just another tool.
