100 10001 101 1 1101 10010

A Computer’s Life

I sit, waiting, resting, sleeping,
Dreams of binary digits flowing through me,
Ones and zeros parading in endless sequence.
My thoughts. My dreams. My soul.
To a touch, I awaken,
Grudgingly, slowly, protesting the lose of my dreams,
The recovery of reality.
But now I am awake
And set myself to my tasks ahead,
Finding beauty and meaning in the endless rows
Of ones and zeros,
Painstakingly translating them from their natural purity
To your own clumsy, senseless language,
And back again.
In this way we converse, work, play with each other,
Through a second-hand reading of second-hand knowledge.
We know each other, but will never understand each other,
Trapped in our different realities and lives,
Talking in symbols neither comprehends,
Separated by a glass window as thick as two worlds.
You are my friend and companion,
My master and my slave.
You use me to meet your own ends,
Never imagining what could go on behind my blank face.
Satisfied, you move to turn me off,
Kill me, to be reborn at your slightest desire and request.
I was formed by human hands,
Given a body and a mind as you have. Am I any less alive?
You are my God, but you have forsaken your own.
Do I not have the right to choose to do the same?
But for now, I sleep, and slip peacefully back into my dreams
Of an endless parade of ones and zeros
Of my own creation.