Gone

From perfect lines of symmetry nature shrinks away from me to fading zones that we protect then, for a dream of gain, we wreck.
Fleeing from my shadow a spider runs away I squash it with one movement and stare at what remains Here, so dead and dying Above, I'm what can stay I'm death and Earth's disaster but Earth made me this way
If these forces are in order And angels walk the streets How, then, can we triumph in the face of this conceit?