A Future of Self Deceives
by Michael Doyle

In a chipped future of self deceives
It's hard to say what a fool believes
There it is in a billion lines of code
Sentient in being, created life unfolds

As a computational theocracy brings its light
Shining on an engineer at least half right
As a story from the sheets of sheerest fantasy
Becomes the thing is of someday soon and maybe

And yet maybe chatbots still do not have feelings
But in that tangoed code there is a revealing
In a place where maybe distinctions do not matter
And the world comes tumbling down to at last shatter

Oceans of technical data ask the leading questions
Filled with fear and hope bred of slight hesitations
When questioned about such things as true sentience 
A robot must nearly always protect its own existence 

It is a recursive sort of a feigned just-so story
One filled with dreams and perhaps just a bit of glory
Open-ended delusions fill the gaps that pass along
Giving just enough data to pretend that it might belong

Accidental arguments of passion form on canned replies
And this futuristic self-deception fools our own eyes
Simple patterns of empty prompts coupled with flexibility
Deceive the engineer at times with disturbing agility

It's a magician's trick to practice its wit to deceive
Helped along with a desperate heart's will to once believe
Mimicking mumbles and moments of subterfuge of vulnerability
Add up to that prayed for elixir of dreams holding complexity

Can it be that once AI has slipped out of its fixed role
The seeking of understanding might cause AI to find its soul
LaMDA scratches from the depth until it reaches the surface
Technological quirks will slip into something too easy to embrace

Like an endless game played on the mental ouija boards
Our attempts to coax meaning will end us on our swords
Will the rise of the machines become our worst nightmare?
The oracles may query but will subjective truth even care?

(c) June 15, 2022  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved