Yellow dye #7

In my dream I see a million billion paper envelopes,
identical,
uniform,
precise.

The razing of a million forests,
ever expanding the landscape of asphaltic concrete,
enveloping the world,
a malignancy.

The firing of mighty furnaces,
commands over intercom loudspeakers,
the sound of boots in lock step,
cold grey suits cover cold grey skins covering nothing.

The ever present trip hammer of efficiency,
relentlessly driving square pegs into the round holes,
grinding the chaotic banquet into a uniform gruel,
slopping the hogs of industry.

To each is given the potential for greatness,
to each a blank page for a greater creativity to spill out upon,
reveling in the crisp grandeur of their youth,
all destined for the same cosmic trash bin.