Cosmology of Self and Ecology

In the last small armed grip Of trenchant technocrat underling Dissolved with poison stripped from putrid earnings Tree of life displayed is churning Urging the virgin men to give up toiling To hold the last ember burning And lay down the sword of foolishness Vanished this wet dream syndicate As dizzy spells of archaic control no longer fool The articulate minds of creative surging Young bliss beings in the prime of the sun We will have known the war over It could never be won No skin could transform in its light So with might is right ethic Duality must banish From electric thoughts so composed A repose gathering Nature unstrangulated Trees unmangled Soft sand caressed As lapping waves Lead us toward sanity