Pareidolia

A gift it is, this Mystery,

Branches from the cosmic tree.

A puzzle we can choose to solve,

If answers would just please resolve,

Smoothing out the fuzzy parts.

I see some ends, but so few starts.

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The greatest minds are asking “How?”

With sweat beneath a furrowed brow.

Most of us are in the cave,

Sign up here to be a slave.

Poets cry out to the sky,

“Why must we live merely to die?”

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Spark a match and light the fires,

Heat is what the system requires.

Constant movement, constant motion,

In your heart and in the ocean.

Burn your little flame away

Darkness will close in one day.

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Look at the shadows on the wall.

Do you think you can name them all?

Is this a good use of your time?

Or is it all a psychic crime?

The toiling is its own reward.

Beat your plowshare into a sword.

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God, why all the suffering?

Prayers are loading…buffering…

That’s not God, you silly fools!

The one above who “Makes the rules.”

You’re basking in an Archon’s grin

As you wage your war with sin.

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The Matrix is just misdirection,

There in Babel: Man’s erection.

Up the steps until it falls,

Once again among the thralls.

Sisyphus now choose a rock,

And push it hard, you’re on the clock.

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The Demiurge looks down and laughs,

We are all His fatted calves.

Can you not hear the cosmic game?

Is the noise drowned out in shame?

That’s designed into the system,

You must find ways to resist Him.

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Beyond all that, the cosmic tree,

Floating on the quantum sea,

Font of Chaos at its roots,

Spreading out to us: the shoots.

The eye of God is in the sun,

Or down the barrel of a gun.

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In a Roman wilderness of pain

And all the children are insane.

Double helix genetic spiral,

Error, trial, error, trial.

Endless heat and stimulation,

Code within the simulation.

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How to ever end the cycle?

From the sky Archangel Michael

Streams in flames upon the land

Burning, scorching, none may stand,

When such displays of divine might,

Care not for who is wrong or right?

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Convince yourself it’s set in stone,

Laplace’s Daemon’s on the phone.

Then break on through the multiverse,

Attempt in vain to reverse the curse.

Play at being little godlings,

Tugging vainly at the strings.

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It’s starting all, now, to make sense,

Future, Past, and Present tense.

Red pill, blue pill, see The Matrix?

The tesseract is made of sticks.

Watershield, subtle knife,

1 iteration = 1 short life.

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Debug your code, rewrite programs,

While measuring in micrograms.

Trying now to spell it out,

Must I scream or yell or shout?

What’s the use, you’re one of Them,

Now reaching for the DSM.