Progress

24 February 2014

“Soggy feet no more will creep
along the droll, mud-wooden street.
The hills will linger, moaning.”

Ten by ten the honest men
endeavor to bequeath, the end
of younger things yet forming.

“Sulfur streaks and acid leaks
will simmer as the factory speaks,
while Gaea gives to groaning.”

Sluggish men must hear it said
that satellites are on the mend
and cast aside their stonings.

“Out will go the stonings,
and about will rise the loneliness
of dark and lamplit streets.”

One must seek atonement
for the backhills and their moaning,
but the workforce must ascend.

“Gaea’s unheard groaning
will raise heartache for the droning
of the melancholy steel entropic beat.”

One must think of honing
all these younger things now formed.

Paltry flecks of wisdom reach an end,
and there is laughter,
there is blood about the street.