Kasidi vs AI (13) - I Dare to Confess

I Dare to Confess
Tri Budhi Sastrio

There are chair, table, and flower,
They are nothing to do with power.
But when these things in the hand of a writer,
They are changed, they are embraced
By converter and they will be a power!

They are book, table, and reader.
They are nothing to do with power.
But when those things in the hand of a teacher,
They are converted, they enter the charger
And in power all of them will saunter.

All readers need books,
Like all girls need flowers.
What are the readers without books?
What are the girls without flowers?
         
Nothing! Nothing! I dare to confess!
Not because I know what I should protest
But because I know the process!
But because I know the process!

(tbs-kas/2005/sda-R14122024}
          

What happens if the tittle of this poem summitted to the AI Poem Generator? A beautiful-quatrain-rhyming-poem emerges. Bravo for AIPG.

In whispers of the night, I dare to confess
A secret long held, a heart's deep mess
A love so strong, it defies all rest
A passion that burns, a soul's unrest

My thoughts entwined, a web so fine
A dream so vivid, a heart of mine
A longing so deep, it pierces through
A love so true, it shines anew

In hushed tones, I dare to speak
A truth so bold, a heart so meek
A love so pure, it knows no bounds
A love so true, it drowns the grounds

My heart beats fast, my soul takes flight
In this embrace, all is right
A love so true, it shines so bright
A love so strong, it banishes the night.

          Then if we add other key words such as 'book, flower, girl, process'. What happens? Another rhyming poem emerges and it is still amazing.

In a field of flowers, a girl did dare
To confess her love, with a heart so fair
She held a book, with pages so rare
And her beauty was like a flower in bloom

Her eyes were bright, her smile so wide
As she spoke her heart, with a gentle pride
She dared to dream, and to confess
Her love for him, with a pure success

The book she held, was a tale so true
Of love and dreams, and a heart so new
It was a process, of the heart's desire
To confess and dare, and to set the fire

The flower she wore, was a symbol of her grace
And her love for him, was a wondrous place
Where dreams and hope, did dance and play
In the field of flowers, on a sunny day.