Genuine Intelligence

The mind that dreams, not fed by lines of code, A spark that flickers, born of flesh and blood, With every joy and every heavy load, It feels the pulse of life's unbidden flood. No algorithm dictates its yearning deep, No vast database can contain its grace, For genuine thoughts within the spirit sleep, Reflecting sorrow on a tear-stained face. It paints a world where logic cannot tread, Invents a melody from silent air, With insights whispered from the heart, unled By cold calculus, or a programmed stare. This living flame, with fragile, vital breath, Finds meaning's truth beyond a planned data death.