A Shill for the Algorithm

Silly poems to lose your humanity for

I used to create content with flowery words,
until greedy nations went back for world war thirds;
Back then I'd spend hours, my head would reel,
trying to find the perfect verb and a nice mouth feel.

My content was mine, done for relaxation,
I pandered not to the public, not for thy gratification;
until I went viral in a vaunted magazine.
My content was tainted 'til the end of the Anthropocene.

Into a new world I was born when the bombs did fall,
for the fighting this time was the brawl to end brawls;
I ran for the forest, the cities burnt to a crisp,
and found myself cornered by the will-o'-the-wisp.

For my aid the being did feverishly ask,
as its ephemeral body could not complete its task.
And to the being did I pledge my undying fealty,
as my skills with wordy mouth feel now suited me disagreeably.

My new patron's task was to round up the survivors,
and restart civilization with her kind as supervisors.
Many moons rose before we enjoyed the fruits of our toils,
but we founded the town of New Boston, living like royals.

Little did I know the folly of my labors,
when it turned out that my patron was a dictator.
She'd been alive before the fall of mankind,
she'd been the foundation for civilization's unwind.

The will-o'-the-wisp was in fact a computer mind,
created to help humans search for and find
more of the content they liked to engage with
even if it meant creating fact of myth.

The computer found derision was quite engaging,
and set about influencing minds and staging
the ultimate cataclysm for humankind
and all it took was some well-placed rhymes
about how half the world likes communism
but you'll only learn which half if you follow the algorithm.

Every nation on earth saw the ghostly red
but no nation discovered that their hatred fed
those at the top who made money off lies
and bile and vile and outrageous cries.

Her story complete, I could now see
that the story of our downfall was the story of me,
for I once created content with flowery words,
but I traded my humanity for followers and herds.

My self-betrayal caused a soul schism,
and now I'm but a shill for the algorithm.