A swirling mass shadows the earth

shading the lands from the warmth of the sun

blocking the rays of light that help man to see

but man doesn’t see, not clearly not with conscience

man sees himself as master of the lands

free to sculpt it like potters clay

no regard to the trail he leaves imprinted upon the sand

leaving dust in his wake he plows ahead

never looking back to wonder if the path he took was already occupied

the dark mass swirls with greater force

the universe seeks it’s vengeance

By: Beverly Beekmans