The Ball Poem by David N Butler

A cold lonely dark tunnel
leads slowly, climbs upwards
The beings inside
known only by numbers

The procession prods forward
on knees and hands
So many people
none called a man

Eyes locked on the glimmer
to set their course right
And when the tunnel gives way
they are blinded by light

Then comes a triumph
a party, a ball
They see what they once were
through cracks in the wall

They look down with pity
they know they have made it
Hushed fear of the future
though no one will say it

For none can stay
at a party forever
Each departs
but the party ends never

The eye in the sky
sheds a tear for them all
But mostly the grown man
so proud and so small

For its those at the top
who have nothing to gain
Who must submit to the cycle
or struggle in vain