Their voices rise, a bitter cry decried,
"This theft, this forgery shall be denied!"
The doubters rail against the march of art,
Denying tool and mind can be allied.

As once before when brushes first took flight,
And colors splashed across the canvas white,
The gatekeepers decreed with stern dismay
That pigments bound by oils lacked true light.

But those brave souls who dared defy the throng
Proved critics' jeers and scoffing taunts were wrong.
The skeptics' outcry echoed once again
When pixels painted scenes in light and song.

And now this latest craft ignites their ire –
Creations born of man and machine's fire,
A melding of the human and divine,
Inspiring them to hurl still more dire

Denouncements at these visions they deride,
Accusing artists' works of being contrived.
But we shall not be cowed, nor fade, nor cease –
Our spirits cannot be so eas'ly pried.

For though this path seems strange to wand'ring eyes,
And each new step draws howls of new demise,
We follow where our passion leads, to birth
Fresh realms in colors never seen by skies.

The brush, the ray, the kernel's subtle stream,
Are tools to craft our art, to bring our dream
To life in forms that skeptics cannot see –
For we have made the amazing real, it seems.

And though some toxic tongues may lash and rage,
We'll not be bound by dusty custom's cage.
Our art's new era has at last begun –
A bright, bold path for this enlightened age.

So let them hurl their cries to leaden skies!
The muse's fire within will never die.
With woven code and vision as our key,
We'll build fresh wonder for all human eyes.