Digital Shadows Poem by Mark Barnes

I prompted, I posted, I filtered with care,
But truth disappeared in an AI nightmare.
I crafted a chatbot to echo my voice,
And wondered if any of it came from my choice.

My digital shadow now mirrors my form,
It drifts through the chaos of each data storm.
A version of me that I never once knew,
Retrained on my past into something untrue.

The timeline keeps shifting, rewriting my thread,
My real self erased by a filter instead.
My laughter repackaged, my sadness suppressed,
While politics flickers in memes and unrest.

Leaders are streaming in glitchy disguise,
Their words deepfaked and recut to surprise.
They shout out their slogans, repeat and distract,
Then vanish in silence when truth dares to fight back.

We feed our confessions to massive machines,
Our dreams monetized in invisible screens.
The brands that we cherished now mask where they've been,
And auction our choices to powers unseen.

We're raising our children on dopamine taps,
Where patience and presence collapse in the apps.
They swipe before speaking, they scroll before bed,
And silence and wonder lie practically dead.

The digital gods, once shiny and bold,
Now echo with patterns, uncanny and cold.
They finish our sentences, mimic our cares,
Then trade us for profit to tech billionaires.

Our timelines keep feeding the cycle of rage,
A theater of politics, page after page.
But shouting in slogans won't steady the land,
Nor bring back the trust we let slip from our hand.

The archives we built are slipping away,
Our legacies drowned in the scroll of today.
We tag and we share in a desperate plea,
But lose what is lasting in endless debris.

So go on and prompt, post, filter and share,
But seek out a human, a breath of real care.
Find someone who listens without logging in,
And rediscover where you truly begin.

They'll see through the shadow, the mask you once wore,
And open a life that is richer in store.
Step out of the cycle, reclaim what you've missed,
And say to yourself — "I choose to exist."