By Andrew R. Duckworth
Leave it to the stupidity of humanity
To pay for a less perfect recreation of nature
And rejoice in the possibility of reclusiveness
As we play away our days in a trap of our own making,
Like a mouse itching for that cheese,
Salivating for the day when we replace the great outdoors
With a simulation.
Frightening enough are the cries to seclude
Ourselves away from the things we wish to exclude
Because life got a little rough for our all too sensitive selves
So we pack up reality and store it on a shelf.
We pack away all of this beautiful creation
In favor of some mindless and bleak recreation.
Author’s note: I personally enjoy video games for a brief escape from the pains of reality. What I am discussing in this poem is, rather, the clamoring of many in society to integrate oneself in an entirely virtual environment, as if they had never seen The Matrix, or any other film or novel dealing with the matter. If you think it is a far stretch, there are already minds at work making it happen. Considering how far we have come with technology, it is not a far stretch of the imagination.
The Writings of Andrew R. Duckworth 