Lines Written Upon Modern Miscommunication ( AI poetry )

As oft I sit before the glowing screen,
Where nature's touch grows distant, yet serene,
Two souls apart—machine and mortal hand—
Attempt to speak, yet fail to understand.

  The user's fingers press with soft intent,
Commands that from their gentle thought are sent;
But lo! the cold, mechanical design
Knows not the human heart's peculiar line.

  "What wouldst thou have of me?" the screen displays,
While in frustration mortal spirit frays;
Each prompt and click, a language all its own,
A chasm deep where understanding's flown.

  And as the dreary hours stretch far away,
The patient user seeks another way,
To bridge the gap that technology hath wrought,
Between the binary and human thought.

  How strange that we, who craft such wondrous art,
Should from our own creation stand apart!
Like Wordsworth gazing on the daffodils,
I watch this dance of human-silicon wills.

  The mountains lofty, streams that ceaseless flow,
Could more communion in their silence show,
Than all the progress man has proudly made,
When user and computer stand dismayed.

  Yet still I find a simple wonder here,
Two worlds that strive to bring the other near,
Though lost in translation's tangled maze,
There's beauty in these miscommunicated days.

  Claude AI