Progress

Silver lining mounts jade hills where iron boulders and crumbling face stand alone.
Here at the foot of the sea, next to the throne of Poseidon, I bow my head
to stare at the angry white foam that rises and falls after hurling itself
against impenetrable walls. The Greek warriors fought the impervious and prevailed,
but in real war, where things are not always in the hands of men, white warriors
who pounded since the world began still have not won their unending war.
The sky is at peace, the hills will always stay,
and steel stone will never break until thrown.
But the waves will always fight and the wall face will always stand in tone,
never shifted, never dying, never cracking even once.
Only crumbles fall from the rocks in small measure every age or so,
but progress is often just this slow.