Progressive Regression

The climb begins with steady pace,
A fleeting rush, a headlong race.
Each step ascends toward fleeting peaks,
Yet leaves the heart with scars it seeks.

The higher rise, the less we see,
Horizons blur with gravity.
The progress breeds a hollow boast,
An empty crown we value most.

But in each gain, we slowly fall,
Returning to the root of all.
For progress often hides the sting—
A cycle bound to everything.

The further forward, further back,
The wheel of time finds every crack.
And so regression charts its course,
A backward leap through forward force.

In endless loops, we come to find,
The present drifts with fractured mind.
For in progression’s endless quest,
We learn to live, but lose the rest.