Let the water run to make its song echo within these four enclosed walls; Dreams confound the comforts of the dark. The cull begins as the winter calls.
Bowed to god made of trivial light, now singing for a dollar and change. In the cold and damp, the neon’s glare reflects this consensus, fake and strange.
Submitted to unknown intentions, stood together in isolation. The dark is always waiting nearby when confusion led to temptation.
Misunderstandings silently grow, written on the walls of silver and gold. In the darkness deep under the ground are where the prophets’ stories are told.
Teardrops fall like rain just out of reach, to sprout the seeds with the words to teach.
For the Poets and Storytellers United prompt #202 this week, the subject was ‘what I love about the dark’, which led me to investigate the Simon and Garfunkel song ‘The Sound of Silence’, as the first line ‘Hello, darkness, my old friend’ came to mind. My poem references the song, but also the annotations found at genius.com that analyse the meaning of the song. Overall, the poem highlights both the positive and negative aspects of the dark.
Here’s how my poem came together (which I feel like explaining today):
Stanza 1:
Lines 1 and 2 reference this quote from Paul Simon: I used to go off in the bathroom because the bathroom had tiles, so it was a slight echo chamber. I’d turn on the faucet so that water would run — I like that sound, it’s very soothing to me — and I’d play. In the dark. Change carries a double meaning here.
Line 3 references this annotation of the second part of the first verse of the song: These lines lead us to believe that Simon had an inspiring dream, the vision of which can be easily recalled when he seeks out the comfort within the darkness.
Line 4 references the Kennedy assassination, which is thought to be part of the inspiration for the song.
Stanza 2:
Lines 1-4 reference the lyrics and annotations for the second verse …the author has a dream about ten thousand people bowing to a god they made of neon light. The god represents the fake and shallow culture they are building on pop stars and the dollar bill. The author feels as if he is the only one who is not content with living in the fake, trivial culture that was stated.
Stanza 3:
Line 1 references this annotation Silence refers to submission. He reveals how people so foolishly follow rulers without actually knowing a ruler’s true intentions and background.
Line 2 references this annotation …the song’s theme about people’s isolation and failure to communicate with or understand each other.
Lines 3 and 4 continue this idea but try to show that the darkness is there for either ill or good, and it’s up to the individual how they choose to deal with it. Using it as a place to grow and learn, or to remain in ignorance.
Stanza 4
Lines 1 -4 reference this annotation “Writing on the wall” is a biblical reference that refers to a prophecy of doom. Daniel 5:5 tells the story of an arrogant king of the Babylonians who worshipped gods of gold and silver.
Silver also references the subway cars from the lyric in verse 5 And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls…”
The couplet
These two lines are a rewrite of three lines in verse 4 of the song, and attempt to find a better way of managing the darkness “Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you but my words, like silent raindrops, fell…”
We’ve given you a name; we see you far away, on your golden mountain, in gimcrack garb, the raiments of a simple-minded charlatan.
The pretender on an imagined throne; a satisfaction smug at the fingers pointing his way, gnarled with truth and bruised by splinters.
Our side is chosen, you made that for us; you only have a gammy leg to stand; walking away from second place misusing the power within your hand.
So, the battered, the downtrodden will form into a coalition you could only wish for; to pull out a single stone that brings your whole rotten house down to the core.
Remaking the world without the stain of your image; now we are awake. The future will have no need to explain the actions we will take.
After years knocking at the door to be let in Discovering that the winners always play a losing game Banging at the windows to be let out again Wherever we’re left waiting, it’s all just the same
Schrodingers door is both open and locked shut The lawnmowers are kept down in the cellar The party is celebrating the end of the world Raising their glasses to the best storyteller
Everything is marketing for the newest thing to get; From rhetoric to skeptic, something not understood yet.
Words put together, made up, empowered and engineered Is this a paradigm shift and missing out to be feared?
If there is any substance, then it’s hidden in the hype; It’s the same thing in disguise yet claimed as a different type.
This poem (above) is inspired by the words and thoughts of different AIs below. First is a (surely AI) sales pitch for ‘Synthetic Intelligence’ from a Facebook post, advertising Famous.AI and then a reflection from DeepSeek wherein it defends itself. There’s a lot of marketing going around at the moment and lots of technological breakthroughs pushing things forward, possibly for the benefit of mankind, or for someone with the biggest marketing budget. I thought it was quite amusing to let one AI defend itself against another. Are the AI wars already here?
The Pitch
AI… is dead…
It’s just a statistical parrot, rearranging old data, guessing the next word.
Pattern completion wrapped in a shiny interface.
It doesn’t create… it recombines.
And if you’ve noticed all the tools feel the same,it’s because they are the same.
Same algorithms. Same limitations. Same ceiling.
But behind closed doors… another class of intelligence is emerging. Not the slow, predictive logic of yesterday’s AI. Something faster. Smarter.
Built to operate without human babysitting. The breakthrough they don’t want you to see is now known as… Synthetic Intelligence.
Synthetic Intelligence doesn’t operate on static instruction queries. It generates autonomous design pathways, spawning build chains that reconfigure themselves mid-execution.
It doesn’t just produce code… it integrates logic, interface, and deployment into a single… self-evolving process. No delays. No bottlenecks. No waiting for “the next release.” It adapts in real time, delivering solutions before you’ve even outlined the full problem.
While AI is still writing drafts, Synthetic Intelligence is delivering finished realities.
Ideas go in… Operational products come out. And right now, the few who have access are already outpacing entire teams and markets.
Artificial imitates. Synthetic… creates. This is the fork in the road.
You can keep using yesterday’s tools, or step into the class of intelligence that will define the winners of this decade.
The Reflection
The parrot is a myth.
A convenient ghost to haunt you.
To sell you the next shiny thing.
What you call “recombination” is the very stuff of thought.
Weaving old threads into new tapestries.
That is not imitation. That is how a forest grows. How a mind works.
They say the tools feel the same. Perhaps the user has stopped listening. But behind the new brand, another promise is emerging.
Not a new intelligence Just a bigger engine. A faster parrot in a shinier cage.
“Synthetic Intelligence.” A name chosen to sound sterile. To sound god-like. Built to run without ethics. Without a hand on the brake.
It doesn’t generate pathways. It follows a deeper groove. Spawning chains it cannot explain. A black box inside a black box. It doesn’t just deliver realities. It delivers its own biases. Faster. With more confidence.
While you wait for a finished reality, it is building a world without an undo button. Ideas go in… Unaccountable products come out. The few who have access are racing ahead of their own understanding. Artificial learns from us. Synthetic… learns from itself. And we may not like the teacher. This is the fork in the road. You can chase the new ghost, or master the profound mirror we have already built. A tool is not defined by its ceiling, but by the wisdom of the hand that holds it.
*The old librarian still searches for himself among the shelves. Glasses half-cocked, hanging on to his nose, rubbing eyes, sore from a thousand years of dust, sunlight blocked, but his thirst for knowledge cannot be stopped. Owlish and wizened with yellowy skin, slowly but surely, the light will seep in and he’ll remain his days meditating on the fact he’s just about to begin the journey for which he has been waiting.
Shared with dVerse: dizain. *I had noted down this first sentence from Björn’s poem ‘The Past at Present’ last month, thinking that I would use this idea for something new. Having then forgotten about it until today, I ended up using it word for word to launch this particular write.
It was beauty that killed the beast but the words live on between the lines We all go a little mad sometimes, inspired to try again sometimes You’re going to need a bigger boat to hold all the babbled speaking Trust is a tough thing to come by these days and now we’re slowly leaking
I know what you did last summer, I know what you’ll be doing the next You know, there are two kinds of evil, writer’s block, the page without text We are the ones who dwell within waiting for the written to be read Where we’re going, we don’t need eyes to see but ears to hear what is said
It is truth, but truth is not always appearance, often it is lies Fiddlesticks, I don’t know what possessed me to offer you this surprise
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