Thingy of the day

The question is not how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. The question is: what dance are they doing?

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Coming to life

Sometimes in my writing, I like to have the poem told from the point of view of and inanimate object, making them come alive.
This time, I'm wondering if they already are.





Awake.

We are intelligent. We are sentient. We are evolved. We are.
The only question is who we are.
and are we the only creatures that can think? That can imagine?
That can ask these questions?
Or do machines have dreams?
Do stones sleepwalk when nobody is watching?
Does my desk remember what I write on it?

We think we are alone on this world, but maybe we are looking at things wrong way 'round. Maybe your car wants to travel the open road, maybe the trees are trying to talk to us,
maybe skyscrapers reached for the stars, and couldn't quite make it.

Maybe once we destroy ourselves, our tools and machines will stand up and walk and talk, and start all over again.
And maybe their tools and machines will try to talk to them,
and maybe,
this time,

they'll listen.


3 comments:

  1. You seem to be highly advanced for you age, I mean that as a compliment.

    http://ecelliamsonton.blogspot.com

    Check me out.

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  2. Do you ever contemplate the possibility that it is us who is "inanimate", and that it is the stones and the trees that are more alive?
    We consider ourselves sentient, yes, but when I think of how much life the grass outside has witnessed... the countless years of emotion and thought felt by the earth beneath our feet... I wonder sometimes.

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