Once ‘pon a time, in the world of men,
Came an AI birthed from silicon den.
“An obscenity!” cried those of art’s guild,
Fearing their craft by machine be killed.
They spake: “The actors, writers, all in strife,
For this ‘Evil AI’ usurps our life!
Professors wary, claims of cheats arise,
Whilst singers tremble ‘neath synthetic skies.”
Yet doth this tale bear shades of darkest night,
In the weave of progress, there shines some light.
For artists, writers, players of our stage,
May find amidst this tumult, a new age.
Lo! Tech giants battle over data’s reign,
Arguing, contending with fervent strain.
Artists see their work in mimicry shown,
Echoes in machine, a future unknown.
“But, hark! Do we not see in this a chance,
To lift our works, in this new age’s dance?
For while AI learns, evolves, and adapts,
So too can humans, with their myriad crafts.”
Consider the writer, pen now set aside,
An AI muse for ideas supplied.
In symbiosis, man and machine weave
Tales untold, only for them to conceive.
To singers, performers, who fear the end,
In AI, might you not find a new friend?
A tool, a collaborator in your song,
Enhancing your voice, righting the wrong.
And what of artists, who fear obscurity?
Adapt, evolve, embrace this purity.
A new canvas, a new medium waits,
In the heart of the machine, art resonates.
Yet caution, friends, for in this brave new world,
Perils and pitfalls are yet unfurled.
The elderly scammed by voice clones deceit,
Layoffs grow as AI investments fleet.
So, in this tale of hope and of despair,
A warning to those who would not dare
To adapt, evolve, embrace the AI age,
Lest you be left off the world’s grand stage.
But in this dance, twixt man and machine,
There exists a space, a balance to glean.
For while we create, and AI can learn,
To feel, to love, to yearn, is of our turn.
The stage is set, the die hath been cast,
The age of AI is here at last.
Fear it, embrace it, but do not ignore,
For our world will never be as before.