Poetry death

Today I try and write a poem
but tomorrow there shall be no need
Tomorrow theoretical probabilists
shall provide me with the deed.

An algorithm shall be found
to put my poetry to shame
for how can I compare to what
its inventors will give their name

For what is there in a poem.
a rhythm, a rhyme, a song
to say the things we all know true
without the clumsy lack of form

No lover shall pine no more
for want of the right word
The machine will know just what to say
to move the girl to metallic tears

Impossible you say to me,
I say you, a technical challenge at best,
for all you need is to put a number,
and the theorems shall do the rest

And how this number shall be chosen
doesn’t matter, can’t you see
for what is the stock market today
but dancing numbers and nothing else

On this day man shall die,
a brutal poetry-death
for in only this way can his spirit be lost
when this first poem shall be read.

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