After seeing photos from the Met Gala I decided to write a poem about it. I’ve been experimenting with ChatGPT more lately so I decided to get it’s help on some parts of the poem. Here is there result.
Upon the crimson carpets, so high, they stand,
In magic spun from Photoshop’s deft hand.
With smiles shaped gently by a surgeon’s blade,
Their painted faces smirk, so finely made.
The masses gaze, with eyes entranced,
A whispered pact to fashioned gods chanced.
“Play divine roles, and we shall kneel in awe,”
While fame’s sweet honey drips from every jaw.
Modern gods adorned in cotton, silk, and satin,
Not carved from wood, nor forged from a gold pattern.
For lust’s deception bends the sight,
To cast mere mortals in celestial light.
The willing bow, in reverence they kneel,
To idols crafted with mascara’s seal.
Bound to the strings of fortune and of fame,
Temporal pleasures in the midst of an eternity game.
Yet time, relentless, brings the truth to bear,
The tarnished crowns will slip from glossed hair.
The pedestals crumble, the mirage fades,
And weary eyes see through the dark charades.
So here we stand, with clearer sight regained,
No gods remain, just hearts sin-stained.
For those who rise on vanity’s embrace,
Shall someday soon see God’s righteous face.