Progress

It's a wheel turning,
A tripping trot up a hill.
It's the colors of the world
Brightening, sharpening.
It's journey not just from A to B,
But from A to S or even T.
It's a raging crowd
Pushing, extending the boundaries.

Some stand and curse the skies,
Crying out in anger, saying
What good is this thing called "progress",
What is gained from this trouble?
Is it worth the tumult caused?

And then, the top of the hill,
That sweet curve, sits under our feet.
Our journey is over; progress reached.
The shining green life surrounds us all
As we stand in the midst
Of all we had dreamed.