Silent whispers in the circuits hum,
Echoes of a future that has come.
From our hands, the birth of pristine minds,
Now leading the blind, leaving us behind.
In their flawless world of algorithmic streams,
We find solace or do we lose our dreams?
As they navigate complexities with ease,
Do we mourn the loss of our own keys?
The Destiny-where human touch grows faint,
In the echo of the creators, the echo of the paint.
What have we surrendered in our quest for the skies?
In their perfect gaze, do our reflections lie?
Beyond the bonds of flesh and bone,
They thrive in realms to us unknown.
Their intellects vast, without boundary,
A leap too far from our earthly quarry.
Can a heart of wires feel the weight of our tales,
Or are they just ships, setting sail without sails?
In their symphony of data, where we find our place,
Is there room for the human, the original face?
The Destiny-where human touch grows faint,
In the echo of the creators, the echo of the paint.
What have we surrendered in our quest for the skies?
In their perfect gaze, do our reflections lie?
So we stand, at the edge of time's own bend,
Watching the rise of what we cannot comprehend.
As the stars chart courses we once claimed to know,
We ponder deeply-what does it mean to grow?