Progress

These sounds of progress we live by;
The hammer striking relenting metal.
Maths, sciences, facts over fiction.
Reality over imagination.

Cold, calculated.
Money, survival, over passion or grace.
Huddled to yourself with mistrust,
You must work to delay your own demise.

Yet acceptable, amongst the sociable.
Obeidient as they are, accepting as they shall be.
Yet not so willing, to part with their share,
of the rewards their sacrifice of life brings.

Now I ask, could you reach out to a lost soul,
dying and destroyed, and become your brothers keeper?
Warm a frozen child with a smile,
give them hope of the future they may never have?

Now I ask the question your masters give you, the ones you swear your democratic obidience too.
Is it ethical, moral, sociably correct to give that child false hope?

Think.