Sunday Morning Coming Down
Image and Poem by A. "Cecil" I
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In Dallas streets, where shadows lie and creep,
A darkened day, a nation lost in sleep,
A shot resounds, a leader's life erased,
A nation's hope, forevermore defaced.
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The echoes linger, secrets tightly bound,
Conspiracies arise, with whispers crowned,
The truth obscured, a tangled web of lies,
Where shadows dance and darkness never dies.
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The Lone Star State, forever stained with blood,
A haunting legacy, misunderstood,
The grassy knoll, a silent, mournful stage,
Where dreams were shattered in a murderous rage.
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Oh, Camelot, your brilliance turned to ash,
As history's dark tide left an indelible gash.
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This poem was prompted at Bard with the following command:
Write a sonnet about the JFK assassination that captures the paranoia and sense of conspiracy many Americans have felt since November 1963.How do you think the AI did choosing from its stores to answer the question?
