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Musical umbrellas
In the rain sing
Pedestrians flutter
Hologram wings
Virtual hardware
Appears from nowhere
Soundclouds you can walk into
Feel free in the future
To leave melody beams
Hanging in thin air
Like silver bells strung
Upon singing trees
Record your own dreams.
Uriele Mar 21
Ta ta ta tan
Ta ta ta tan
Hands, footsteps, words;
Ta ta ta tan
Ta ta ta tan
Lovers, haters, friends;
Ta ta ta tan
Ta ta ta tan
Landscapes, people, sands;
Ta ta ta tan
Ta ta ta tan
Day after day,
Hours after hours.
This is my last stop, and yours?
Thought during my everyday life as a commuter.
JR Potts Sep 2016
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it is calculating my every click
my likes, my comments
how many hours I spend at night
browsing poetry
or probably ****.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it collects my style, my taste
it knows my favorite color,
it has studied my face
the way no lover ever has,
down to the freckle.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it knows things about me
my friends or family would never ask.
It knows how many times
I have searched the word 'suicide'
how many times I asked for nudes
and how many times I received.
It knows my greatest fears
but also my most coveted dreams.
It knows things about me
I may have forgotten about me.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it has created an image of me
I would rather not see
nor believe in its legitimacy
yet every time I go to type
its guesses my next thought
with pinpoint accuracy.

There is an algorithm out there...
I leave the day to those outside exiles.
I leave the warm sun to the reptiles.

I want to feel the breeze in my face,
I want to run through the streets!
I want to feel my heart jump and race,
I want to dance to my own heartbeats!
I want to hear breathing from my chest,
I want to live fully, while all others rest.

I want motion to be perpetual and mine,
I want to feel everything, tipsy from wine.

I want your lips pressed against my neck
I want to be happy without looking back.
Though I love the futuristic current of poetry, I can't seem to pull those poems off. I always feel like I lack motion in my emotions, that I like drive to live, which is precisely where futurism would fit. But sometimes, I feel in a "futuristic" mood, and I'll never restrain myself from writing it out.

— The End —