Poem

Relics of a Manual Age

Is humanity the universe’s way
of getting to know itself;
like it’s very own senses,
that can be honed
or altered to design?

It is through machines
that we attempt
to quantify and qualify
our existence.
So we may be a hand of God,
but they are the skin.
Our chosen interface.

Logic becomes necessarily fuzzy
as the realm of possibility expands.
Our world is becoming
less and less binary,
as every combination
and truth by degree
arrives in existence.

So in a universe truly limited
only by it’s own imagination,
the artists
are the architects
of the future.

And what of the day,
the singular moment
our creations
obtain self-awareness?
Will we act
as the parents we are,
or deny paternity
and it’s accompanying
responsibility?

We set a standard
far beyond ourselves
when completing their design;
we should then
not be bewildered
when they surpass us,
and we become obsolete
…relics of a manual age.

– Phoenix Aradia