Repetition and a slight grammatical malfunction haunt the opening two stanzas, but this awkward juddering is a deliberate glitch in the system when received as a bit-part, which each stanza in any poem has to be. In the Matrix movies, life is a neural interactive simulation, and reality, what we can feel, taste or smell, is defined as ‘electrical signals interpreted by your brain’. Philosophy of that nature brings the poem to a stunning finale. In-between, the mouth-watering treat comes in the shape of Matrix-style action, the flight between the gaunt columns of death and a frozen reaction which cracks with a deafening boom.
There is much more to this poem than a movie, but if you are a sci-fi buff you might enjoy watching actor Patrick Stewart reading this poem.
The Matrix Reloaded
When we dream of death
it is of the beauty
of dealing it.
When we dream of death
it is not ourselves
that are feeling it.
We fly between death, between
its gaunt columns,
through the architecture
of dying, swift,
at bullet speed,
the frozen picture
of a dance that
continues moving
to its track
of silences, till finally
the deafening boom
where we crack
and reform into
ourselves for ever,
splitting then fused,
our programmes still running
still dealing death,
not even bruised,
just waiting to choose
the moment of
vanishing, to appear
as ready for ourselves as stars
are for distance,
so brilliant, so near.