Cloudy green <br />Lush Forest, made <br />of the stuff <br />dreams are made of, <br />a jungle of <br />culture and <br />heritage- <br /> <br />now a <br />city. <br />Dull grey <br />buildings, wailing <br />cries of bustling <br />cars in the <br />distance. <br /> <br />Skyscrapers, Skyscrapers <br />scrape <br />the <br />sky. <br /> <br />and the ever- <br />progressing society <br />labels it a <br />Jungle. All <br />these trucks <br />and bulldozers, <br /> <br />all part of <br />the immutable <br />progression of <br />Time, <br />of the long <br />and dreary <br />process we call <br />Development. <br /> <br />And <br />Skyscrapers, Skyscrapers <br />they <br />scrape <br />the <br />sky.<br /><br />Ballerina With Fins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/progress-a-concrete-jungle/
