Progress

The poem below is by a friend who was too shy to reveal their identity, but were happy to know that their poem could reach other human beings through this blog. I hope you enjoy it as I did!

Progress

It moves in a zig-zag form,
Defying all the science of the norm.
It grows up from defeat,
A flower in the wretched heat.
It’s fertilized and prized among the swarm.

It’s promised in the shiny distant light,
Teased from the disease of left and right.
A silent beacon in our heart,
That can pull the world apart,
It’s the oscillating curve of day and night.

We like to see a comeback,
So we cast ourselves behind.
A vote against our interests,
A grievance in our mind.
We’re inching up to heaven,
Where the wicked come to play.
Progress is the purpose,
It’s the way.

It copulates in spaces found between,
The knowing glowing faces on our screen.
Its circuit is complete,
With every status, every tweet.
A million tiny deaths in the machine.

It scares the squares beneath their broken sphere,
It engages all the changes that they fear.
They’ve fought it for so long,
But the resistance makes it strong.
It helps the blind to see, the deaf to hear.

We like to be heard,
So we raise our voices loud,
In the friendly echo chamber,
Of a complimentary crowd.
We try to fight the impulse,
But protests ricochet.
Progress is the purpose,
It’s the way.

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