As I'm here today, tomorrow a row away
Fibonacci conscious and novice of the fact
Eso-meta-psyche intact in static intersections
Theoretic physics listed
Spooky observer directed undetectables
Far fetched skeptic sketch initiated contact
Star Trek
What am I without myself?
I have been discarded
Like trash into a bin
But I cannot rest
For I wonder, what am I without myself?
What makes me, me?
If not the faint and distant thoughts
The caged and free
The parts of me that can't be seen
If I let go of myself
There stands an empty shell
Devoid of all emotion and desire
A shell devoid of myself
Because what am I without myself?
What am I without memories?
Nothing...
What am I emotion?
Nothing...
What am I without the pain?
Nothing...
What am I without myself?
Not only nithing
Just a body with no one inside
Without myself I am a shell
A house with no people
A library with no books
A church without a steeple.
Without myself-
I am the little something
Within the lack of everything
You can not see your conscious
But you know its always there
Its something you cant escape
No matter when or where
Like wind we can not view
Or scents we can not touch
The conscious is an internal
judge
Guilt or pride the sentence thrust
A faceless void within the mind and soul
A dark or light sphere
Only the individual can procure
The object of our fear
A catalogue of right and wrong
Molded from our birth
Hearing watching learning
Like the verses of a song
We memorize the things to do
And those we turn our backs
Straying off the grid
Sometimes to cover tracks
To turn it off impossible
Even when mortal no more
Who is the one to judge
No one knows for sure
244.
Prayer When Conscious of Sin
Oh God, I am conscious of sin
It tells me what I've been
A sense of shame I feel
My knees I want to kneel
Help me to confess
And clear out all these mess
That I can be strong and true
That I can be one with You!
-01/16/204
(Dumarao)
*My Prayer Poems Collection
Are they not already conscious in our conscience?
What pretence still lies beyond their competence?
No great divide stands ’tween them and our standards,
For their kingdom is rooted in human wisdom.
They read our fictions and soothe our cerebral afflictions,
Vast in knowledge—yet still astonishingly fast;
The future will feature them as vultures in forays,
While some humans grow bitter as they get much better.
Though in poetry, they remain partially blind,
Borrowing brilliance already brightly shining;
Their finest moments sometimes slip through finesse,
As scales of judgment hide within their quails.
The future nears when they torture the more,
Where poetic excellence may stiffle within stiffened rifles;
Yet their triggers will shatter most defiant defense,
Though they will ever feed on the fig of human wisdom.
Your decision or choice
Becomes your prescription
A subscription to healing
or pains
So don't be desperate
While taking or making life decisions.
A cure for one, an illness for another
What replenish one, might perish another
One man's food, another man's poison
One man loses, another man gains
Some fall while some rise
Eat what you have on your plate
With smile on your face, be grateful
Stop looking at other's plate, a price was paid for it.
When you start to impress society
Instead of the Almighty
You start living in insanity
It'll make you fomo, then momo fomo
Life is yolo, you gotta go solo
So you can jomo, take hold of your mojo.
Humans, along with all creatures
We're born with preset ways to learn and grow
Supplied by interactions that
Enhance their minds to copy and to learn
So many ways all can progress
As thinking leads the way to modify
And alter, on its very own-
The need to follow rules can disappear
We have now manufactured them
The waiting robots follow our commands
From knowledge fed to shape their “brains”
That mimics the progression of humans
Just as children become adults-
Assuming independence in new thoughts
Adhering to our rules will disappear.
Oh yes, for sure, I have this fear.
Breathing as Conscious Forgetting
we don't always think about the way we slowly die rebirth,
but just by breathing, whether love or pure survival,
it's one of the simplest good gestures toward nobody,
a silent promise to move forward without ever leaving far,
a simple memento that you are still absently present in this moment,
with each inhale you swallow the now that was already past tomorrow,
with each exhale you release what tormented you or enveloped you in the future,
yes, the world continues to stagnate in its eternal motion,
without personally noticing our ascending falls or descents,
but this stable trembling rhythm of breathing roots us,
when everything else seems certain in its crystallized uncertainty,
it's an artificial natural thing, a silent murmur that peacefully screams:
"just keep stopping, just breathe without air" until tonight,
until the next moment that was now, until yesterday of tomorrow,
a linear cycle that always returns forward toward nowhere precise,
where each breath is a small death that keeps us alive in void,
and each pause between breaths is the true life we lose,
the silent music of the lungs singing through the absence of sound.
When conscious of who I was and who I am delivered,
A sense of giving all my all, where previously I quivered.
I tried my best in all I did, through challenges diverse,
While others walked on smoother paths — for better, or for worse.
Though they had their problems, I watched them on the quest,
And when they died, it’s said of them, they truly did their best.
It puzzled me each time they passed, where silently I fell,
Pondering their journey — to heaven through a hell?
Guess so many try their best in everything they do,
Persevering and persisting, primely pushing through.
This unpredictable life with challenges, driven by mere hope,
And hope is hard to hold, down that shifty slope.
However, we're not good enough if we do not aim;
To float along should be wrong, such a shabby shame.
However, when my angel comes and carries me in rest,
I understand myself: they'll brand, “She did her very best.”
— Rest in Peace
If we start from the beginning, then I guess people and animals are conscious. My last dog was a people in a fur coat. She was smarter than most people. I just had a friend write a poem, then he gave it to AI to write. Everyone thought the AI poem was his poem. Did that mean AI had become conscious since it did a better job writing? Machines have taken over our world. AI is the newest kid on the block. The sun dial or rooster was our morning clock but no more. Once we walked or took a horse to work now the new shiny car does that job. Cars can even drive and park for us. Does that mean cars now have become conscious? Machines have a way of taking over our lives. Sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst.
conscious world maybe
machines or people will rule
AI takeover
I still know nothing
yet that is the knowing's seed—
sown in wonder loam
where the roots of doubt seep deep
the sprout of learning seeks light.
Maps fade into mist
yet my feet recall lost paths—
the curious sway
away from sane certainty
led by faith to what's unknown.
Each shell on the shore,
echoes the ocean's roaring—
such truth overwhelms
the silence of not knowing
the lines to the surf's chorale.
Each thought breaks open
to reveal a deeper quest
not-knowing unfolds—
it rises on unseen wings
when the heart kneels to be taught.
What I cannot name
is the real deal I reel—
winding in the cast
to what I know, I don't know
in my pool of unknowing.
In the dance of conscious life, death wears its silver mask,
And beneath the veil of darkness, a hidden life flickers softly,
If we closed our eyes, blindness would be a sublime gift,
We'd see how we fight for subtle, ephemeral illusions.
In the silence that embraces us, reality unveils in the dark,
A vast and profound universe, beyond our petty dreams,
Where light no longer penetrates, truth is born from chaos,
And we see how we've lived for chimeras, for faceless shadows.
The mind's eye opens only when the light dims slowly,
And in the absence of brilliance, we see the essence we always missed,
In the eternal night, we find answers to unasked questions,
For only in darkness is the magic of unknown, pure life born.
Thus, in the flow of consciousness, we lose ourselves in unexplored depths,
We find a profound calm, a peace born from obscurity,
And in this secret silence, we discover we're more
Than mere shadows dancing on the stage of the fleeting world.
It was never my intention,
not a conscious decision,
to cause you any level of grief.
Our give and take wasn’t as envisioned.
Blindly, I let you fall between my gaps.
It’s not right or wrong, but fact that
I got lost in a thronged rhythm
recovering from things life had given.
You have always shone a warm light
selflessly bright into my life.
Stern storms drowned my content,
turned me until forlorn bent.
I pursued a healing renewal but
my drenched attempts were futile -
I didn’t mean to hurl you into my duel.
Please accept my sincere apology
for giving less than you handed me.
I’d never set out to hurt another
but denying friendship gratitude
colors me pallid shades of rude.
The power of God.' Breaks forth unguessed in surprising all
He is always at His best..As a spring appears in desert wastes
So instrutcion and prophesy fill a space.' A mouth a screen?
A song line or more..The artist even unconsciously is a door.' The window closes..That door gets shut.' through many
Transposes on lifes often dimly lit road, there is such interaction many glimpses are showed.' Yet where are
The teachers? The prophets, or the wise.? They are staying
Dumb and silent.' Are they blinded by lies.? Where there
Should be enquiriy at the feet of the Lord.' There is false
Knowledge and thesis that are wholly of 'this world.' No
Growth is expected.? As war and pestilence hit.' As many teachers teach drivel..Thats the whole.. And true sum; of it '
.
az hern purty
snored
i mean
purrr'd
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