Behold!

The great
Leviathan, with
teeth of steel, with
feet of clay.

Subjected to this
giant's whim,
the sweet sojourn  
of life decays,

Infected now, we
lie and skim; while
markets mire
mother's way,

rejected reason,
presses on, to
try again
another day.

Atop our corroding
roof, the sage rasped:
I did not know
until the classic anatomy
of my blue jay's wish
had evolved to match
its sedentary lifestyle.

I'm praying for a day
when I can breathe in the black and white solace
of a scratchy, blurry landscape devoid of streetlights.

My eyes, filled with pollen,
are closing on the shadow of an arm casted out further than my reach,
towards a hawk's silhouette amongst the limbs of a dying birch.

what is a human
but a cosmic spec
of semi-wanderlust
destroying the planet
because they believe
they rule it
while if the human race
ceased to exist
the world would
flourish

The factory is a human mutilation of our soul
Mindless repetition putting out one part of a product
No skills fully learned or refined just another machine
Nothing to learn and grow for, nothing to strive for
Just day in and day out until death, illness, or retirement
Claims your fleshy sacs of aging water skins

Life reduced to a ticking clock,
As shriveled men desperately clasp
To slick tomes filled with diagrams
Of shadowy glass towers, convoluted machines
And factories with a singular purpose:
To manufacture their own existence.

The Plague spreads to druidic forests
Where those who simply existed
Overcome with glutinous ambition
Demolish those majestic columns
Which supported equilibrium
While the world gleefully cheers.