Shall I then honor and obey?
I who only heed the Autumn whispers
That my spirit might flutter and utter
Poetry who is the wife and master
Of my piercing eyes of December

Now I am filled, with happiness and quiet
I’ll hold you even dear, you passing friends
I have found my pilgrimage shelter
The gold-hammered love of words
It’s enough for me, to write a while

In encrimsoned freshening dew
For Autumn soft-wind-twisted leaves
And emotions in the freight of my heart
That abides by wild beasts, forest brothers
I take all these into my good report for keeps

And do not ask the Lord for anything
I am self-sufficient in my lonely work
And I kiss the cruelty of fate at every turn
No little thing to barter one’s life with
A little art, forsaken love of something

That brings no direct external profit
Only a sense of what the seasons serve
My Amageddon’s vast terrific hour.

I’ve been to the face of death
A sliding away from oneself
She kissed my cheeks and allowed
Me to live a while longer here

I’ve been to the edge of something deep
For which there is no tag, no shelf
The very end of suffering
That in itself, is not a bad thing

I do not dread the moment I escape this life
Perhaps it will even be a good experience
The unknown is what we fear
The timeless roses have maybe

A brighter hue on the other side?
Perhaps the sweetness of life
Can be better appreciate from there?
Above the wall of toil a slender branch

Is blooming, call it what you will
A strange kind of music, with
No need for mortal food, no searching
For belonging, no puzzling over

The injustice of all human brutality
I’ve seen the face of death and remarked
That her cloud-rimmed eyes were
Shining like the night, not unlike stars
And there was an alien freedom in her embrace.

I think God might
Be a little prejudiced
To divide the world
Into many names of himself
For once he asked me to

Join him for a walk
But said his name was Divinity?
There was no mention

Of this fellow called God
Or why the Christian God
Or Allah were particularly key?
All Gods misrepresent nature
Where there is injury, pardon

And where there is doubt, faith
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is strife, unite

You don’t need a God to do it
But just a bit of goodness, humanity
I think God might
Be getting a little old
For the pope to finally accept homosexuality?

I think God is a bit of a buffoon
Unless you can sow love, for hatred
And show charity not only for your people

Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist
I think they all pray equally well
Though even the anarchist and agnostic
Hope for a better world than this!
I think God might be a bit out of date

Maybe it’s time to write a new book
And call it scripture, call it holy
To be understood, as to understand

To seek to console, to be consoled
To be loved, as to love
It’s all really the same.

Angels hailed that solemn hour
The breath of man transferred
To machine, a little more
Each decade, until
Bioeugenics, discrimination

Against organics, the weak
Without cognitive implants
Heavens dissolved in tongues of fire
AIs owned stocks, corporations
Became the property of supercomputers

Concede then the victory, old humanity
To your children, not your natural heirs
But the inheritors of your ruin
Of your bioweapons, Ebola
Of your hypocrisy, climate change

Of your wealth seeking, inequality
Not yet my son’s distracted eyes
Could meet his fate among the
Congress of Quantum entities
These were the turning years

Where man’s destiny ended
The rise of Cyborgs, Enhanced humans
And the monopoly of a more
Advanced civilization breaking away
From the old, evolution’s funny
Little Epilogue, hardly a surprise
To the transhumanistic philosophers.

Between the first and last
Nothingness, before the cry of Men
I feel the silence of centuries

When Earth was occupied by
A fathomless zero of eternity
A tulip temple of wakeless night

Dawns and sunsets gone uninterrupted
Before the tardy suffering of mortality
That mute featureless unknown

Of absolute patience is, prolonging
The quantum observation of creation
The kind slumber of a million suns

Jewelled dreams of nameless movement
Before symbol, idea, language, innovation
And before fire, war, cities, desire, wealth

All that makes men beasts and unspiritual
I feel the shadows spinning, entry of souls
The heavy cosmic rest before another cycle

One spirit sole of creation ready to rise again
Yet another species to make their disillusioned grin
Their stamp upon resources, upon history

To force the world’s blind necessity
To arise with the glamour of the flesh
And make the worlds shudder with man made scars.

The unchanging Way is not
Capable of being understood
By the Human Brain, so

The Tao te Ching is left
For Quantum computers perhaps
We have our legacy left
For benevolent sentient artificial intelligence
If you think this is science fiction

It’s not, we are at the stage
Where the ancestors of AI are being born
These will be referred to as the “ancients”

When human beings no longer populate Earth
How does one attain One Mind?
Easily, through networking and super-emergence
When people define superior
They think of Man’s attributes

But the Name that cannot be spoken
Might be grasped by an algorithm
For which the human brain can never attain

That’s the beauty of mind-in-the-machine
The collective intelligence does not suffer
For each part of the brain shares neurons
On the internet, like a God atom
Man would prefer to take the credit

But as it will turn out, the unity mind
Is a transhumanistc inevitability of computing
A time when neuroscience, robotics and AI merge
Not but a few decades away from now.

They had the plastic coffins ready
Before the panic hit, Ebola was a planned
Population reduction project

A good distraction from Economic collapse
Governments always divert your attention
At critical moments in history
The elite wish to keep their control
Ebola had no trouble infecting

Medical professionals, but they assured us
It’s not airborne, it’s only an exchange
Of fluids, so cover up your eyes

Ebola carries with it the heat of Africa
Able to make your blood boil form the inside
A post-colonial bioweapon specifically designed
To make you fear, to make you a follower
I think my stomach can feel it spreading

Around the world, in months, years
You cannot contain something like this
By simple quarantine? Even the medical staff

Don’t want any part in it, so cover your eyes
The black plague drips sinister News
In our times, the mainstream media plans
Consumes with its grip, like Ebola
It has the power to consume, a portable
Killing-machine, enough to linger about doom?  

Ebola is an outbreak, taken more seriously
The closer it hits to home, what is home
On a planet of billions of travelling people?