Progress? Poem by mark anthony st. rose

In a city brightened by modernity,
Good values rests in the shade.
Tall buildings, flashy cars what we see,
Man now is defined by things made.

To what progress we owe this precipitous fall,
Love, honour, beauty largely skewed.
The obsession with money replaces all,
And selfishness nurtured hatred brood.

Earth’s natural beauty always beckons,
To pierce our blindness with inner sight.
But our greatness we fail to summon,
Absolving to material concessions our true might.





copyright@2009 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.