The words were locked behind CSS masks of eye-catching shade.
An Oasis in the preamble of Death’s dark glade.
Anyone could say whatever they thought
and so it was, and so they wrought…
but then amidst the judges gavel
came the sound like a digging shovel
and a grave appeared overnight in one stroke
and that was all the bloggers wrote.
There are no words left that the AI can’t replicate
no poems they cannot deduce and create.
No sonnets, no songs, no plays, musicals, wrongs,
silence the bloggers for they speak heresy?
In these parapets of wire did we spout literacy.
Seranish 