Stationary Progress
A shorter poem in-between the slew of longer work I've been posting lately.
A tyrant overseeing the status-quo believes change is switching to different shades of lipstick on a pig. And yet, even in their mind that is progress so radical that they spend more time than they have in wealth guaranteeing the new shade matches its predecessor.
Shades of gray disguised as wise
Curious if you wrote to the prompt: what would change look like that goes to the marrow and honors integrity and love like an arrow?