A LUDDITE POEM

My avatar, auburn hair created by my son
wanders lost in the matrix of the VR world,
not of brick and mortar but pixelated.
0 and 1 scorched blood in its veins
(Pronoun do they hold there)
creating and minting digital wallets.
Does it long to leap off the fibreglass?
For it feels trapped in the man-made mandrake.

This artificial universe is somewhere in space or on earth,
I do not know. But we have begun to invade all.
I juggle multi universes at my age. A metaverse
on the earthly land and several minis in my body.
It breathes and exhales carbon footprints;
my son tells me so.

How do I bridge the gap between the real and tech
not for me to dwell? I am nearing my earthly cycle.
Today I am looking for the recycle bin.
The nontech savvy needs help.
My son's vacations are over.

I remove the Google Glass and logout of the system.
I long to sit by a stream and inhale the Angsana flowers.

My poem may paint an incorrect picture of the AI world
Is it me or ChatGpt who has written?