The leaps of man has stained the land,
Leaving their marks too deep.
They sweep the boundaries of demand,
In race with natures keep.
Their flowers are of welders bloom,
High very high they rise.
Making shadows and much gloom,
And squalor seems the prize.
There is no bail, no holy grail,
Where cloud and shadows lie.
It's a doubtful course that they sail,
The daffodils they die.
The shadows loom in conscious dream
A burning living flame.
It's all a part the conscious scheme
But negatives remain.
I can but say this lonely goal,
Just seems to have no soul.