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Black fog, amorphous, scrawls o’er land and sea
to swarm its fingers turning stones (them all)
with silvered, gilded, oiled machinery
for replicating fearful minds’ enthrall.
The fractured ones must fall to pit’s despair
or soil denatured pride in wallowed heights
or free their flesh by bearing nought a care,
enslaving minds for gain with hallowed weights.
Yet, life, around, does suffer for the man,
whose image of himself will finely fail.
With Gaia bedding Mars to thwart his plan,
Will men endure, or cry – forgotten wail?
Intelligence must tend to fightful scene.
Can we surpass to peace, remains unseen ?

It’s open link night over at dVersePoets. Pull up a stool, and wax bard-like. 🙂

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