Happy The Machine.

Happy the machine unknown to itself,

feeling destiny like smoke from a flame

and as times passes so do their lives, knowing

nothing but the idea of the world: Ideas are so common,

like philosophers whose confusion is raised to

wisdom by the machines who rejoice in habit! The habit

of their lives being suffering, the sensations of their thoughts

numb to reality.

Reality being a myth to the machine, knowing nothing but

the appearance,

happy the machine unknown to itself!

 

Not knowing how to love or dream they seek authority,

 the philosophers who betray nature telling us the star

glowing beyond the veil is dangerous and because they do not understand

to not trust it…

happy the machine unknown to itself!

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I feel this speaks to a segment of populace that live life devoid of curiosity and yearning to know the world they are part of. Instead droning through life like a cog on a machine. Single minded in their purpose. Perhaps a social commentary on the state of societies. Either way I enjoyed this piece of thought provoking poetry.

[Danny Metcalfe]

Thank you, Carlos. Appreciate it.

[R.J Calzonetti (Siniste..]

Ignorance is interesting in itself. There is a magic and beauty in not knowing, even if in not knowing, it is often a lie. Things are far more loved when they are absolutes that are completely misunderstood. Such as the sun, the moon, or even the round world, or God. Meanwhile, those that are not absolute are left in the dark, and uninteresting without the grace for anything or anyone to understand them in the first place. If it can be denied it will be, only accepted if it is an absolute. Only if it is beyond itself. Something apparent, some greater importance. It is the same with these different pieces of our world as the poetry people read. Anything real must be material that has some worth besides itself, assigned to it by this world and the people in it. If you don't see its meaning as anything special, you'll find no meaning in it. And if you consider there to be meaning, you'll see it there even when there is none. Why do we not speak of the beauty that isn't there? That we do not dream of what has yet been realized? We don't understand it because we don't see it with open eyes. It isn't anything when it has nothing to connect itself too. Creativity, imagination, is nothing if it isn't real in some small way. It must reach some sort of understand already understood. Even if it excels beyond that. You could make something beautiful and they would simply call you stupid, a failure, or a madman. Hundreds of years later others may start to experiment what you were best at as beginners. Only once that has happened will anything or anyone consider such a person a master. And by then, you'll likely have been forgotten, lost or watered down. With nothing to compare, it is nothing at all. Without understanding, growth is obsolete, useless. Who knows how cavemen came to the conclusion of music. But it must have started with something equally elementary. Baby steps. We must compare ourselves endlessly. That is who we are. Understanding benefits understanding. Nothing is beautiful if you don't know what beauty is. Or at least something you deem ugly. What use is something beyond us if we refuse to realize it is, and if refuse to understand its purpose because we haven't come to the realization, it might as well be seen as useless, immaterial. What is a canvas to the cave painter, scratching at the walls with a stone? Depends on the tools they already know. There must be a connection made.