An AI Walks into a Poetry Contest

It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre,” and closed with “...thus, I stand redeemed.” The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.” Each line marched out like neat attire, iambs in rows, a formal dream— it rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.” An echo here, a fractured lyre, a sunset soaked in self-esteem … The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.” The image: “…hope tastes like sapphire” entangled “rotten in Denmark” metaphor scheme. (It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”) Its title bore ALL CAPS—entire! — and ended with a line too lean. The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.” No whisper, sigh, or breath to inspire— just algorithms chasing a theme. It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.” The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.””