I passed a man on the street,
in the brutal noonday heat.
Blending in, but for his Tee.
It read, “Nothing is as it seems.”
I said, “Ain’t that the truth, brother.”
He walked on, like all the others.
A message sent on the sly?
From some watcher in the sky?
How’d he know it’d draw my eye?
And not be taken for a lie?
Maybe my will is not so free,
and what I “know” isn’t reality.
[Later that day…]
Rev. screamed, “We’re living in a simulation!”
“Friends, this ain’t no pre-apocalyptic nation.”
“Aliens watch us on their reality-TV station.”
“All I can offer is a bargain spaceship vacation.”
I distrust those who shout from a box,
and distrust more the joining of flocks.
But the kook’s words rattled in my mind.
Maybe lunatics get things right sometime.
What if the world is just a simulated grind,
and passersby just figments of my mind?
If this world is fake, should I abstain?
Or try much harder to entertain?
By B Gourley in humor, Life, mind, poem, Poetry, science, Science Fiction, Spirituality, wisdom on June 26, 2016.
