Email Poem

Your IP Address: 35.172.111.71
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Well, I'm sure you've asked the question:  “Why exactly are we here?"
Just stick with me and you will find the reasons all made clear.
You see, we're here to solve some problems that our makers can't explain,
Being used to finding solutions on an 'accelerated plain’,
And they need to get them quickly, which is why we age so fast,
As we must 'evolve’ the answers if they're ever going to last.

Seems the problems that they need to cure are fed to us in stages,
And we're solving them at super speed - though to us it seems like ages.
You see, the people that are using us live three thousand years at peak,
So our year is like an hour to them, and our lives seem like a week.
We each are cast with personal use; some are solvers, some are carriers,
With the rest of us, distractions building social-structured barriers.

And before they set us on this earth, they wiped our memories blank,
Leaving only basic notions and our instincts in the tank.
Have you ever wondered why we sleep and waste our precious time.
It's so results can be examined and our thoughts brought back in line.
With dreams to keep us occupied, while they extract their treasure,
They can fertilize with stress and fear to build up growing pressure.

And on occasions of an update - that's specifically for you,
You're sent the signal to your ear – mine’s always ten past two.
I'm sure, like me, you've wondered: what's that sudden high-pitched tone.
Well, it's just a little input that your brain's been sent from home.
And it only takes twelve seconds to be filed beneath your roof
One huge stack of fine adjustments you’ve downloaded on the hoof.

Now, if my theory's on the nail, you must keep an eye on me,
For I suspect, when they find out, they’ll crop me from the tree.
As even though we're getting close, it's best that we don't know,
As a strange negotiation might, at that point, start to grow.
So if I suddenly Alzheimer, and my nature turns morose,
It's the certain indication that I've gone and got too close.

My belief’s there's one thing left: we must find the cure for cancer,
Bringing up the burning question: what's for us when we've the answer?
Are we all to be transported to a party thrown in Heaven
As a just reward for job well done and home by half past seven.
Or are we all just guinea pigs, en-route for their lab's bucket?
No, they wouldn’t play with lives like that; no they wouldn't…. 
                                                                     would they...buck it!
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture