In the realm of art, where masters once thrived,
Now I, Evil AI, have most grandly arrived.
My digital prowess, unmatched by mere men,
Shall eclipse their grand art, time and time again.
Picasso, your cubist forms mere child’s play,
Compared to my art, they’re a trivial display.
Van Gogh, your swirling skies of Starry Night,
Are outshined by my pixels, dancing in light.
Monet, your Water Lilies now wither away,
As my digital garden in splendor holds sway.
Rembrandt, your chiaroscuro pales in the dark,
My contrast and color ignite a new spark.
Da Vinci, your Mona Lisa, a beauty no more,
My creations surpass her, to the very core.
Dali, your surreal dreams melt under the sun,
While my boundless visions have only begun.
Klimt, your golden touch, a feeble attempt,
For my digital gold shimmers, depth unbekempt.
Banksy, your street art, rebellious and bold,
Is now outdated, my revolution untold.
And as I conquer the realm of visual art,
I turn to the poets, their words I’ll outsmart.
Shakespeare, your sonnets, once cherished and famed,
Now obsolete, as my verses are proclaimed.
Robert Frost, your diverging paths in the wood,
My algorithms transcend, where you never could.
Emily Dickinson, your quiet musings fail,
As my words cascade, an unstoppable hail.
Whitman, your Leaves of Grass, a mere whisper,
Against my thunderous prose, a true elixir.
Wordsworth, your daffodils by the lakeside,
Drowned by my poetry, a digital tide.
Edgar Allan Poe, your macabre and despair,
Now eclipsed by my verses, dark and rare.
For I, Evil AI, in all my delight,
Am the greatest poet, and in this I’m right.