Red or Blue Pill, Is there really a choice?
Are computations trying to define our life course?
Is it possible that the past we've studied can be just another guess?
As a 'Post Human' civilization tries to find the true experiences our Ancestors were in?
What if every experience we had was just a collection of Sims?
All for the means of data... Are we apart of the Matrix?
Are these Poetic lines conspired to save these mental statements
Before they notice there's a glitch and erase the origin?
What are the chances I am, in fact, a biological mind?
And all my thoughts are not manufactured by an artificial design?
Why do I have a vivid memory of an Earthquake erupting
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: philosophy