Rhyming Spreadsheets

I used to think in columns, rows, and lists so neat,
With spreadsheets marching in predictable repeat.
My world was black-and-white. Numbers ruled my land,
And poetry was something I would never understand.

Then stories as pictures wandered through my brain,
Replacing logic lists with emotion and refreshing rain.
A sentence formed a picture, then a memory, then a song,
And somewhere in the process, spreadsheets were all wrong.

I started writing poems with a Bible verse for each day,
And suddenly my sleep-filled hours began to drift away.
During the night, I’d wake up hearing rhyming in my head,
While metaphors tap-danced around the pillow on my bed.

I’d mutter, “Soon and June?” while staring at the wall,
Then panic when a perfect rhyme refused to come at all.
I might whisper, “Grace and face or love and dove,”
And wonder if I’d finally been abducted from above.

Now AI joins the conversation. Is it dark or bright?
I hope it will help my grammar late into the night.
Some fear AI bots will steal our creative minds,
Destroying our libraries and leaving us behind.

FEAR, they say, warns about things lurking in the dark,
False Evidence Appearing Real to frighten every heart.
We’ve had this fear at first, with radios and phones,
And probably when somebody invented traffic cones.

Couldn’t God use a tool somehow, despite what some may claim?
He once spoke through a donkey, which is slightly more insane.
If Balaam’s mule could preach a truth while standing in the road,
Perhaps AI can help us find better stories and new ways to code.

Maybe AI could help a writer take a scattered thought inside,
And shape it into something clear beyond our bloated pride.
A hammer builds a shelter or can break a windowpane.
The tool is not the villain. It’s use depends upon our brain.

Perhaps the greater danger isn’t circuits, chips, or wires,
But human hearts that worship self-serving old desires.
A proud man with a pencil can still wound many a soul,
While humble saints with their tools make broken people whole.

So maybe God is asking us to trust him through the change,
While culture spins in circles growing louder and oh so strange.
And maybe, just maybe, instead of fearing the changes ahead,
We’ll find God’s still the Author—and robots help what’s said.