Regression; The Progress Side-Effect

standing there,
amidst the windswept tragedy,
peering down at the vivid bland,
unable to comprehend,
this physical incarnation,
of the abstractism,
that is the creation of man's neccessity to reason,
and cringing to the bitter taste of realization,
that even hell has its vivid hues,
to which might seem beautiful,
against the apathetic attempt at color,
expressed with regret amongst the landscape,
as if the meaning had been sucked out of the painting,
dying amongst the decaying corpses of creativity,
collected merely for its worth,
and never for its meaning,
and with the dying sun,
not even the twinkling stars bring hope,
that tomorrow might see a sprout of flowers,
with which to marvel and enjoy,
and so knowing that my quest for greener pastures,
continually leads to lands of desecration and despair,
I head on hoping that an untilled land,
may spark once again an innocent,
wholeseome,
thought,
that the busy steel skyscrapers have sought to remove,
and with hope,
to find a reason to justify a soul who's purpose is unclear,
unwanted,
and unusual.
a blatant discord in a world,
conforming to a gray norm,
picked seemingly as to inspire greef,
all in the name of progress,
failing so miserably.