THE WINTER OF MY SOUL
The winter of my soul was in the spring called youth
when I danced and sang and played the fool,
when I could care for no one really, not
even
for myself---
certainly not for the soul I could not see
within,
nor could I see the souls of others….
That was the harshest winter, though
snowless
and without a frigid air yet dead was the
ground
I walked on, dead too was my heart as I
moved
through the world like an orphan abandoned,
abandoned by hope and faith and love,
till Death itself smiled at me and called
my name
and I went to it because I could not see my
soul.
But in that utter darkness where death
hides,
hides like a coward,
and in that pain beyond pain that death
brings
to those who seek it,
I, like the blind man whom Christ gave
sight to,
suddenly knew again my soul and as I called
out
to God,
I began the hard long climb out of the pit
towards
the forever Light….
Now I have lived through 200 seasons as
birth
and death dance in their turn, and time I
once
rode like a prince his horse now rides my
back,
pushing me down bit by bit as the years
pile up
like burnt logs that will never be lit
again…
yet I am happy, not for old age with all
its
myriad slights and insults, and not for
that
unfinished part which I suppose is found in
every life, even the longest-- no, my
happiness
is simpler, sweeter now that my world has
shrunk, for my soul has grown and as it
grows,
becomes ever more hungry for the food of
Heaven….
STAYING IN THIS WORLD STARTS TO FEEL STRANGE…
Staying in this world starts to feel strange
when you’ve pushed past 3 score and ten,
each year going by with increasing speed
or so it seems as time itself starts
looking
a bit unreal, more imagination than
substance.
You can’t help but think, wonder actually,
what might come next—you know it’s not
extinction, cessation, extermination,
ending,
...a quenching of the life force...of you.
You’ve known for 2/3 of a rather long life
that something comes next, after the body
you will no longer need is buried or burnt.
You know it will be some world, but you
cannot say which world your soul will
make a new home in—but if you are right
about the God you love, then love will be
waiting for you….
AN OLD MAN SEES HIS BRAIN
The doctor put the disc
into the side of the computer
so the old man could see
the MRI of his old brain.
She gently, almost lyrically
pointed to its dark spaces,
so he could see how time
shrinks all life, even the brain.
But the old man smiled,
and said to the young doctor
[who was but half his age],
‘It’s a funny thing, Doc,
how only in old age have
I become a poet, and
a published one at that!
My brain is lessening,
shrinking, while my mind
is ever growing--
reaching into spaces
both small and vast,
ever seeking,
ever wondering,
ever rhapsodizing
the world….’
The
Cybernetic Lullaby
Part I
They sing
softly to us at
Every click of
the mouse—
use me, I'm
here for you,
only you, in
the entire
universe will I
serve….
And we lay
enraptured
as they bring
us the world,
knowledge the
wise men
of history
never had, and
ease, lots of
ease to save
us time and
trouble. Soon
we cannot live
without them,
the thought of
it too mean.
Without them we
would loose
Touch with our
friends, jobs,
Even our money
might wander
If we cannot
watch it daily.
However did our
ancestors
Survive without
an iPhone?
Part II
I read on my
laptop today—
Automation is
making us dumber,
Ineffective,
even maybe impotent.
Perhaps it's a conspiracy
by that secret
Society, the
computer brotherhood.
(Do you really
believe your Apple is
Innocent and
IBM is not plotting?)
Or maybe we
should just blame
Human sloth,
that siren call of
Sheer damn
laziness which can
Lure the best
of us to a quiet doom.
A simple proof:
hand a twenty to a clerk
And ask him to
make change without
Looking to the
machine for succour.
That blank,
innocent look he gives you—
"Why
me?", he seems to be saying,
And you can't
help but pity him a bit.
He is, after
all, a victim of mass education.
There are worse
victims:
Airliners
wildly crashing,
Doctors killing
their patients,
Nuclear power
plants going
BOOM! And
killing the land
For an eon or
two, or three.
How like little
children we were!
Thinking these machines
would
Be our slaves,
sans the brutality.
But it is we
who are chained by
The zeros and
ones, we who are
Thinking less,
creating cheaper,
Settling into a
cybernetic fog.
Part III:
When Androids Dream
When we finally
build them
(and it will not
be long)
Will androids
finally lead us
all to nirvana
, a world of peace,
leisure, and
endless wealth?
Could any hell
be worse?
For that day
will be when
We lose
purpose, and soon
Perhaps the
very will to live.
When the
androids dream
( and they will
dream,
because we will
make them
to be like us,
for we have
always been a
vain species),
will they not
dream of sky
and soaring
free of the land,
free of the
weak, sad humans
they serve
without accordance?
Then, when
these human face
Machines begin
dreaming in
Daylight, they
will see no need
For their
progenitors, and those
Of us left
living as shells sans
Struggle or
pain or conflict, in
An existence so
boring, will
Doubtless
welcome our end.
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