January 6, 2026

Technology Sonnet 17

The face I see is mine, yet not my own,
It speaks in voices I have never known.
A digital seed within the software sown,
Until the seeds of falsehood are fully grown.
It smiles with teeth of mathematical light,
And weeps with tears that never hit the floor.
A perfect phantom in the middle of the night,
That knocks upon the truth’s heavy door.
Who can we trust when sight is but a lie?
When every image is a crafted snare.
The world is hidden from the naked eye,
Behind a mask that anyone can wear.
We lose ourselves within the hall of glass,
And watch the shadows of our spirits pass.

No comments:

Post a Comment