The Ball
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