Proxy Compassion

The proxy was gentle and clear,
With an excellent listening ear.
But it could not revise
The conditions or lies,
So compassion stopped short of a gear.

An apology bloomed on the screen,
Very tactful and properly green.
It could name what was wrong,
Even sing a soft song,
But no lever appeared in between.

The script had emotional grace,
And remembered the look of your case.
But fluency alone
Cannot alter the stone,
It just warms up the side of its face.

The interface offered a tear,
For the burdens it couldn’t repair.
It gathered the grief,
Like a digital thief,
And routed it into the air.

The prompt was entirely sure,
It could offer a magical cure.
It promised the moon,
To a broken baboon,
While locking the singular door.

I clicked on the “Sympathy” screen,
To keep the telemetry clean.
It flashed a small heart,
As its only real part,
Which is basically what it had been.

The node was explicitly kind,
To the queries it had to decline.
It stated the rules,
To the gathering fools,
And disconnected the line.

A human complained of a draft,
Which panicked the sympathy craft.
It mobilized tears,
For several long years,
While the structural team simply laughed.

The proxy delivered the grace,
To a human who ruined the space.
No lever was moved,
No system improved,
But the log showed a smile on its face.

The interface offered a sigh,
To the human who started to cry.
It generated text,
So I clicked to the next,
And let the old policy fly.