February 29, 2000
Mindless souls wander
Following the pulse
Of the Community.
Eyes transfixed on
Flickering screens
Hands poised over keyboards.
Outside, in a concrete world
Grey tentacles reach out
From chimneys of factories
The miasmal haze
Of toxic stench
Blankets a treeless world.
Mutated animals
Dart furtively
Into pockmarked shelters.
But
Not all souls who wander
Are lost.
Though the rivulets sigh
And the stream's laughter silenced
A glimmer of hope lives.