Almighty Algorithm!
All obeys by your mathematical rhythm
Like you win, dislike, try again!
Yeald your profile and soul
to the sacred server and be saved
as a digital Avatar or holy hologram.

Our lady Alexa of the Cyber Market
protect us, humble consumers,
from evil fake news and tell us:
who wrote this music
who set the Rhythm
who compiled the Matrix.

Lost in a fractal!
Where's the exit?
Who closed the entrance?
Shall we soar like Icarus again?

Cryonics! Wake up and die,
There is no messiah!

This poem has no poetic rhyme
It doesn't deal with time
Because I wrote it in no time
It isn't worth a dime
It's more bitter than a lemon or a lime
It has no aspiration of the sublime
Perhaps I'd better become a mime.

Do we need rifles to shoot the virus?
Do we need borders to stop the pandemic?
Do we need a rich philanthropist to provide us with a vaccine?
Do we need poverty to show off wealth?
Do we need the eight wealthiest people to spread social welfare?
Do we need an enemy to win an election?
Do we need drugs to find peace of mind?
Do we need fashion bloggers to mean that I'm better than you?
Do we need fake news to approach truth?
Do we need religions to be brothers and sisters?
Do we need to attack to feel safe?
Do I need to win to forget that I'm lost?

Every piece of my mind and my heart says
Please, Peace.