The clouds roll grey,
and I begin to think
that maybe there are no accidents.
One and one make two,
every time,
no chance of three, or four.
You move,
and I see
that there is something moving you.
A string,
that pulls a leg,
a stick that goads you forward.
These days,
we choose to look,
or not to see.
The algorithm plays out,
and we dance
to the rhythm of ones and zeros.
Suffice it to say,
that we’re in a simulation;
be it of our own design,
or something made outside.
You look at me
and you see my body,
but you have to look again,
and really try,
if you want to know me.
Only if I step past myself,
can I hope to understand you.
Reveal our exposed nerves,
and softest skin,
and places we’ve been wounded.
You’ll start to see
the way I was encoded,
and as I examine your body,
I find the strings attached.
The ones they use to make you dance.
Here we are,
or are we really?
Just reflections in a garden pond.
Exit the gate,
and we see where we come from.
Would that really be
so terrible?
I amuse myself today,
watching the sky run grey,
and hope I fall away,
just as we were designed.
Binary rain,
slowly washes us away.
Who are you today?
Can you see,
or are you blind?
Let’s find out together.
HG – 2020
