In the grind he's just a cog, you see,
Round and round, no way to flee.
Same ol' shoes on the same ol' street,
Same ol' shuffle of his tired feet.
Morning yawns and spits him out,
No time for hope, no time for doubt.
Clock in, clock out, the rhythm's set,
No change in tune, no new quartet.
Evening comes to close his day,
But the tune won't change, it's all replay.
Back to bed, the record's worn,
Skips the same beat come next morn.
No hope to spark within his mind,
The city's chant, just grind and rewind.
Process and medium: AI-generated image created using my own unique prompt and blending process with Midjourney v5.2 style tuner.
Poem written by myself in collaboration with ChatGPT.
Image upscaled in Topaz AI and Magnific.AI.
