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Meg B Aug 2021
It’s 5:04 AM, as I lie awake going on hour number two.
I dreamt of you,
As I often do.

I always awake with a jolt,
The tangibility of your simulated self
My senses overstimulated as if we had touched for real.

When I ponder on you, on memories of us
In my conscious mind,
I have a difficult time stringing together
The details of you,
Years apart having left your image
Grainy and unfocused, although effervescent.

Yet when my eyes close,
You make your way clear into focus,
Every detail of your physical and spiritual form so vivid
As if I’m really experiencing you,
As if you’re dreaming of me too,
And we’ve actually escaped to another reality
Where nothing has changed or faded.

Is this where we now reside?
The current version of us is no longer compatible with the software of reality,
Our data kept in the cloud
Where dreams are stored.

It isn’t real in the realness of reality,
But it’s so vivid, more lucid than a lucid dream,
That I can’t shake the feeling that I’m experiencing the real you
In the only form I’m now able to download.
Ashlyn Yoshida Mar 2021
Collecting information and writing it down in a journal
People cross by in fear or interest
a human as analytical as a robot and emotional as a puppy
Strange one
Writing it down, each move
Every behavior
Then I get up
ignoring complaints and compliments
And I help them all
hmm not my usual category of poems...
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
this peculiar notion transmigrates into a startling potion,
one that creates, not slakes human thirst,
a consequential first position for those who are in possess
of a direct line to gods who hide in the pitch black,
perforce one must make discrete deferential inquiries
avec une politesse indirecte

just in case we are wrong

(honest aside:
as composition proceeds, ear buds fill me with
Music of Transmigration, notably Op. 11, of S. Barber making
contradicting souls passing through me tenable and malleable)

loud radio silence, was I naive to expect otherwise?

perhaps god is not the subject of this poem
but perhaps the author(!)  who's
just  keeping his "hand" in the poem game,
spoofing human memes,
with a spot of fun even in
New Z--l-and-other domiciles

after all who has more
nominalistic titles,
is cursed and blessed,
by almost everyone
at least once a day, and in
a thousand different names
with an impishly
cruel sense of what this human gig
it created.
is about

I am a composer,
tomorrow’s decomposer,
or just a funny named follower

the answer is in the
My very first poem; yay!
I don't stand on formality,
you can call me #8
Shiv Pratap Pal May 2019
O' my transparent magical sphere
I am aware of your capabilities

I always regard your truthfulness
I bow before you once again

I also bow before the angel
Who gave me, you as a gift

Again I am here with a question
Please let me know the answer

Don't feel any pressure or fear
You are always my near and dear

Don’t hesitate anymore
Just speak the truth, only truth

My question is plain and straight
But still it is not that simple

The question is mind boggling
The question is very troubling

"Which is the most valuable
Which is the most vulnerable

Which is the fastest growing
Which is the fastest moving

Which is the most popular
Which is the most wanted

And which is the most insecure thing
In this modern mundane world"

All of sudden the sphere turned opaque
Then changed its colour in red and blue

Later it was filled with ***** smoke
Quickly replaced by white-white clouds

And then I figured, A word inscribed
What I saw, was a single word – "DATA"

I thanked my transparent magical sphere
I thanked the angel who gave me this gift

I bowed down with respect and regard
Returned with that single word answer

I assessed, analysed and concluded
Once again the magical sphere was true
Some questions even have the same and single word answer.
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