No crown, no throne, no marble hall,
just a quiet score behind the wall
that weighs your worth in decimals,
your past in a sorted list.
It learned your hours, your steps, your tone,
the pauses where you're most alone.
It does not hate. It does not care.
It only ranks you, and it's fair.
The loan is denied. The feed is fed.
The job goes to another thread.
You ask a clerk, who shrugs and sighs:
"The system says." No one replies.
We built the judge from what we've done,
then called its verdict "neutral." None
could see the thumb inside the scale:
our old mistakes, now coded stale.
Yet somewhere, a hand can still reach in,
open the box, and ask where, when, and why.
A rule you cannot question is a throne.
A rule you can is just a tool.
End
Subject: This poetry a mergence between human and machine explores an emerging model of governance (algocracy: governed by algorithms) and it's effect on human society.
Good Day