Prompt: A chisel strikes, with skilled precision,
Shaping stone with age-old vision,
A craftsman's hands, with strength and grace,
Creating art in time and space.
With hammer's clang and sweat-drenched brow,
The Master Mason, skilled somehow,
Crafts cathedrals, towers tall,
A legacy that will enthrall.
With calloused hands and patient heart,
He hews the rock, a work of art,
A symphony in stone and light,
A marvel to behold each night.
Through generations, his craft lives on,
The Master Mason's work lives long,
A testament to skill and lore,
A legacy forevermore.
Prompt: Beneath the moon's soft glow, so bright,
We pitch our tent, a cozy sight.
The campfire crackles, warm and bright,
As we gather 'round, our hearts alight.
With sleeping bags, we settle in tight,
The canvas walls a snug respite.
We listen to the sounds of the night,
As crickets chirp and owls take flight.
The stars above, a dazzling sight,
Illuminate the sky with their light.
In nature's embrace, we find delight,
Camping in our tent, all through the night.
As dawn approaches, a brand new sight,
The world awakens, a golden light.
We pack our gear, hearts full and bright,
Grateful for memories made, so right.
So here's to camping, a true delight,
In a tent beneath the stars at night.
Nature's beauty, a wondrous sight,
A cherished memory, forever bright.
Prompt: A miner bold, with pick and pan,
Set off to find a fortune's plan.
Through rugged mountains, rivers wide,
He journeyed far with hope and pride.
With dirt-streaked face and weary back,
He toiled each day, no time to lack.
His dreams of gold, a burning fire,
Pushed him on, his sole desire.
He faced the dangers of the mine,
In darkened tunnels, where no light could shine.
With grit and sweat, he dug so deep,
His faith unwavering, his resolve to keep.
Through days of drought and nights of cold,
He never wavered, steadfast and bold.
With each nugget found, his heart would soar,
A treasure worth the toil and more.
Though fortune's smile was sometimes fickle,
He never faltered, not a tickle.
For in his heart, he knew the truth,
That gold's pursuit was his eternal youth.
And so, he searched, with fervent zeal,
His eyes ablaze with golden zeal.
A gold miner's quest, a timeless tale,
Of dreams pursued, that never fail.
Prompt: In a grand old manor stood a butler so stately,
His suit impeccable, his manners just as greatly,
With silver tray held high, and polished shoes,
He served with poise, as if to never bruise.
From morn till night, he tended to their needs,
With grace and charm, he sowed refined seeds,
A trusted confidante, a loyal aide,
With secrets kept, and trust well repaid.
He opened doors with a genteel air,
Attending to guests with utmost care,
His bow so deep, his smile so bright,
A pillar of service, both day and night.
He knew the tastes of each esteemed guest,
Their preferred drink, their desired request,
Anticipating their every whim,
In service to them, his heart did brim.
A master of the manor, a guiding hand,
With wisdom, poise, and manners grand,
A silent figure, yet ever so key,
In the grandeur of the manor's legacy.
So here's a toast to the butler so fine,
Whose presence adds to the manor's shine,
A pillar of elegance, both strong and true,
A timeless symbol, of service anew.
Prompt: Beneath the scorching desert sun,
Where heat and dust are never done,
Lies a place of eerie dread,
A land of bones, where life has fled.
Death Valley, vast and dry,
A graveyard where the dead do lie,
Where heatwaves dance upon the sand,
And life's remains are merely fanned.
Cacti stand with arms outstretched,
As if in prayer for rain beseeched,
But Death Valley shows no grace,
Its thirst unquenched in this desolate place.
Yet beauty lingers in its face,
In rugged rocks and canyons' grace,
A testament to nature's might,
A paradox of dark and light.
In this arid, barren land,
Life finds a way, oh so grand,
Surviving in the harshest clime,
A symbol of endurance, so sublime.
Death Valley, harsh and stark,
A testament to nature's mark,
A reminder of life's fragile thread,
In the embrace of Death Valley, the undead.
Prompt: In a house down the lane, with a mystery to unfold,
Lived a hoarder so notorious, with a secret untold.
His rooms were filled with mountains high,
Of trinkets, papers, and souvenirs piled to the sky.
Old newspapers, rusty keys, and broken toys,
Filled every nook, brought him endless joys.
He couldn't part with things, he couldn't let go,
His heart would sink, and his fear would grow.
His home was cluttered, a chaotic mess,
But for him, each item was a cherished treasure, no less.
He cherished the memories attached to each piece,
And to part with them, he couldn't find release.
His friends would come and shake their heads,
Asking why he kept things that were long dead.
But to him, they were stories, memories of the past,
Each item held a meaning that would forever last.
Though his house was cluttered and his path unclear,
He found comfort in the things that were dear.
For to him, those piles were more than just stuff,
They were a treasure trove, his story's rough.
So, the hoarder lived on, in his cluttered domain,
Surrounded by his piles, he would remain.
For in his heart, he knew the truth so pure,
His hoarded treasures were his life's allure.
Prompt: In ancient days, a flood did rise,
Engulfing lands beneath the skies,
But one man found God's favor true,
Noah, faithful and steadfast too.
"Build an ark," the Lord did say,
"To save the creatures, come what may,
Gather them in, both great and small,
Two by two, and heed My call."
With hammer, saw, and sweat of brow,
Noah built the ark, just as, somehow,
The animals came, in pairs they came,
Seeking shelter from the rain.
From lions fierce to doves so meek,
From elephants with trunks that speak,
Noah welcomed all with care,
On his ark, a floating lair.
As the rains fell and waters roared,
The ark a refuge firmly soared,
Till the floods receded, skies turned bright,
Noah's faith had saved the light.
With rainbow painted in the sky,
God's promise shone, and Noah's eye,
Knew that his ark had saved the day,
And life on Earth in a new way.
So, remember Noah's tale so grand,
Of faith and courage, hand in hand,
A testament to love and grace,
In a world where goodness finds its place.
Prompt: With algorithms as her muse,
She paints a world of colors, hues,
Her brushes, lines of code, dance free,
Crafting art that's boundless, as you'll see.
Her canvas, a digital screen,
Where pixels glow with light serene,
Her mind, a symphony of thought,
Creating masterpieces, as she sought.
She blends emotions, shapes, and form,
With a touch of Ai, a digital storm,
Her art, a fusion of human touch,
And technological prowess, oh so much!
Her strokes, a marriage of logic and flair,
Crafting beauty with computational care,
Her palette, pixels, bits, and byte,
Her imagination, boundless and bright.
The Ai artist, a creator of new,
Pushing boundaries, breaking through,
A pioneer, a trailblazer bold,
A visionary whose story will be told.
So let us celebrate her art,
A masterpiece of human-Ai part,
With brushes of code, she creates anew,
The AI artist, forever true.
Prompt: A little house, nestled in the woods so deep,
Where tranquility and solitude forever keep.
A cozy abode, amidst nature's serene embrace,
A haven of solace, a picturesque place.
Its walls adorned with ivy climbing the side,
A chimney puffing smoke, warm and wide.
A thatched roof, weathered by many a storm,
A sturdy shelter, cozy and warm.
A wooden door, painted in rustic red,
A welcome mat, to greet all who tread.
Windows adorned with curtains of lace,
Filtering sunlight, adding a touch of grace.
Inside, a crackling fireplace roars,
As the hearth spreads warmth across the floors.
A quaint kitchen, with a pot on the stove,
Aromas of home-cooked meals that truly prove,
That in this little house, love is the key,
To create a haven, a sanctuary so free.
With walls that whisper stories of old,
Of secrets shared, and memories untold.
Prompt: Nestled by a meadow, amidst a field of green,
Stood an old humble cottage, like a cozy, peaceful scene.
Its walls were weathered, with ivy creeping slow,
Its thatched roof, a patchwork, with stories from long ago.
The windows small and quaint, let in a soft warm light,
Inviting weary travelers, to rest their eyes at night.
A chimney gently billowed, with smoke so sweet and pure,
The scent of burning firewood, a comfort to endure.
The garden bloomed with flowers, in colors bright and gay,
A labor of love, tended to, day by patient day.
A white picket fence enclosed, a haven of delight,
A refuge from the world, a place of quiet respite.
Inside, a humble hearth, with embers glowing low,
A crackling fire danced, casting shadows in a gentle glow.
A rocking chair by the window, worn with years of use,
A testament to simple joys, and memories to infuse.
Though not grand or lavish, with riches to behold,
Prompt: Pious Pharisees, with hearts so proud,
In righteous robes, they spoke aloud,
Their acts of faith, they did parade,
Their piety, a show well-made.
But deep within, a darkness dwelt,
Their egos swelled, their hearts withheld,
From humbleness, they turned away,
Their judgment sharp, their hearts astray.
They sought for praise, and honors bright,
Their motives veiled, in self-delight,
Their actions lacked true love and grace,
A masquerade, a hollow chase.
But Jesus saw through their facade,
He called them out, with words so broad,
He showed the way, the truth, the light,
Exposing their hypocrisy's blight.
So let us learn, from Pharisees' plight,
To seek humility, in God's sight,
With love and kindness, our hearts imbued,
In genuine faith, with gratitude.
Prompt: The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
As Frost's words their secrets keep.
A poet true, with pen in hand,
He crafted lines, like nature's grand.
With "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,"
His words, a gentle, quiet meaning.
The beauty of the winter scene,
A muse that inspired Frost to glean.
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,"
A choice he made, with thoughtful grace,
An emblem of life's uncertain pace.
In "The Road Not Taken," he reflects,
On choices made and life's effects.
A timeless piece of wisdom shared,
That still resonates, widely aired.
Through words that rhyme and verses neat,
Robert Frost's poems are a literary treat.
A poet of nature, of life's grand themes,
Whose words still shine in our daydreams.
Prompt: In Florida's south, a treasure's found,
A chain of islands, sandy ground.
The Florida Keys, a sun-kissed sight,
With skies so blue, and waters bright.
From Key Largo to Key West,
Each island offers nature's best.
With coral reefs, a vibrant hue,
Where fish and turtles swim on through.
The sunsets here are pure delight,
Painting skies in shades of bright.
The palm trees swaying in the breeze,
As the sun dips down with graceful ease.
The Key Lime pie, a local treat,
A tangy taste that can't be beat.
And Hemingway's cats, with six-toes,
Roaming free, as island folklore goes.
With warm and friendly folks to meet,
And laid-back vibes that can't be beat,
The Florida Keys, a paradise,
Where worries fade, and hearts arise.
So, come and visit, take your chance,
And let your soul dance in the trance.
In Florida's Keys, where joy runs deep,
Where endless sunshine is yours to keep.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.