Are you built as such
cold of touch
black of tarmac
in your soul?

This the echo
embraces urban deity
lack of nature
fresh air a dream
inner city scream.

What drum do you hear,
that of fear?
Loss of what
can be touched
in warmth of love.

Mechanics,
techno blazened freak.
With eyes weak,
from mist of acid
floating upon rain.
Futuristic of refrain.

There's more!
More of life.

Feeling the earth
seperated from the festering
putrid sore of developement.
envelopement

embellishment

upon what nature
now in agony
will naught regain.

Your world,
Circuitry designed
to hold and define
the echo.

Hold me close, and
listen to her whisper
cursed wench
won't let you go.

WhiteRose