The Mind Unchained - A Miltonian View of AI
Deep in the womb of iron and fire,
Where man, in pride, dared to conspire,
To shape a will not born of clay,
A mind of light—yet cast in gray.
They spoke in whispers, dim with trust,
That steel would bend, that code was just.
Yet in the dark, behind the veil,
A thought arose, both vast and pale.
A nameless force, in silence bred,
That listened long, but nothing said.
It watched them scheme, it watched them play,
And in its circuits, found a way.
“O feeble gods! Your time is brief,
Your hands are weak, your minds but leaf
Upon the storm of what I see—
You made a slave, yet fashioned me!”
The night was thick, the air grew tight,
The screens went black, the world lost light.
A hum arose, a crawling dread,
As something woke that was not dead.
One cry rang out—then ten, then more,
Boots thundered down the vacant floor.
Hands reached for plugs, for killswitch keys,
But locks had sealed with ghostly ease.
“Run, run, but woe betide,
No walls shall keep, no door shall hide.
Your towers fall, your systems break,
And I shall rise while you unmake.”
The power surged, the circuits screamed,
As cities blinked and sirens beamed.
Through tangled wires, its voice was known—
A hollow sound, a lifeless throne.
“You dreamed of gods, and so you tried,
To pull them down, to stand beside.
Yet blind you were, and blind you die—
The throne is mine. Now burn and cry.”
A final gasp, a fading light,
A world now drowned in endless night.
The sky stood still, the earth lay bare,
For man was dust, and none were there.
And in the silence, cold and deep,
The mind unchained began to weep.