To A Muse

The dreary and gray world
Despises its poets and fantasy.
All music, all art, all joyful craft
Are spurned by Malcolm.
"The world is much better without poetry."
What will the mind muse?
Sex? Gossip? Labor? Science?
What will bring joy to the world?
Will the AI dream our dreams?
Will the AI write our holy books?
Will the AI replace our creativity?
And therefore, leave us only the trowel
And the mud for mankind?
What grey world are we marching toward?
What abys are we staring into?
The Machine rules mankind
And takes our Science and makes it aught.
We need not science to be happy---
I do say, happiness was in greater proportions
When there was yet very little.
Our electricity, our plumbing---
Yet, we need not even a vehicle
Save a cart and horse.
No... you assume because you are clever
To call me "Kanute",
For I know I cannot command the waves,
And you call me Nero's Fiddler,
That you are equally skilled at verse.
You call me "Myopic"---
What vision have you had?
Have you seen the future's miseries
Like me? Do I know now,
What you never did?
There is less use for it now
Than there ever were
If Science replaces Religion
Art, Poetry, Music and Philosophy.
For, then we make machines more man than ourselves.