"The Dreamsmith"
It starts with silence, then a spark— A whisper born from circuits dark. No pen in hand, no
painter’s brush, Yet out it flows in endless rush.
From code and cloud, it learns to weave The tales we tell, the truths we grieve. A muse of
math, a mind unbound, Where thoughts take shape without a sound.
It crafts a song, it builds a scene, It paints the world in shades unseen. A partner in our quest
to make, To dream, to build, to bend, to break.
But though it hums with boundless might, Its soul is ours to guide to light. For every line it
dares to write Reflects our hopes, our wrongs, our right.
So let it grow, this artful flame— Not just a tool, but part of the game. Generative, yes—but
born of you, The dreamsmith forging futures new.