God made the Machine

His illusion

Bombarded with pseudo-realities
Manufactured by the media
By governments
Big corporations
By religious groups
Political groups
Sophisticated electronic mechanisms
Universes of the mind

I have a malformed public-duty gland
I must have a Guardian Idiot

On the surface
I was calm
In secret
I was waiting for something
His return
That measures the passage of time
This age-old faith of lovers and poets

A drunkard
Relives ancient torments
Feeds coins into the jukebox
He breathed
Hoped for nothing, yet, lived in expectation
The time of cruel miracles was not past
The dark blue outline of the crescent moon
Branded me with a mark of wildness
As if I belonged to ancient times

For a moment — an instant
I forgot about the horror of not belonging
While deep inside of me
The matrix, unfolded across that colorless void

In this age of rust
Reality, shaped by the forces that destroy it
Walked in dark places no others will enter
There - Souls
That never got weaned from the universe
Became an extension of it...
We are the same people our ancestors were
Lumbering across this landscape scooping up and eating everything in sight
Here on the edge of forever
Truth is a matter of the imagination
Wallpaper to our children
We -
Like
Gods who echo how mortals behave
Gods, a perfection to be emulated
Yet we share their flaws and foibles
We are humanlike
We are divine
Slowly fading in the narrow zone between fire and ice
With all our tenderness of heart
Lying naked in the palms of love.

Gypsy