Progress

I Dead groves of buried flowers, for the modern to be and to appear ... and innocence be voice off tuned, only the voice of noise be flourish. II Hallucinate engines loose on the street, causes the moon, flee, hide, and disappear, carrying on her breast the night naked sheet ... The sun aware of this, uncertain that appears. III All bucolic geometry has already collapsed in this infamous madness, villain of success, even joyful and lively joy are vanished IV fearing for such bestial evil intentions, because only of ghostly aberrations, so they wear the visors of progress ...!

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Jeff Connelly

Date: 6/26/2019 1:46:00 PM

Where to start with this one Alkas. Firstly, simply amazing poetry. One image that sticks in my mind to help me shape your poem if progress over nature, us seeing a plant growing between cracks of sidewalks. Nature will forever endure. Sacred Geomotry always exists without US, but as you say in the last stanza, we are mules with blinders on only looking at the carrot dangling before us; never paying attention to what IS around us. Thank you Alkas.