Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Starlight Ball

Searching for that perfect wall flower before
midnight approaches.
The last dance on wooden floors cracked with memories.
Arms held high and silk draped over young naked shoulders,
locked together and spinning in small circles
then dipping,
filling the stale air with fancy perfume
-- straight from Paris.
The dance.
Men's suits,
uniformed, pressed sharp and tight
for sailing,
come morn,
the rallying call
for a spirit soon to be lost.
As said by every father
and their father's before.
Generations of stories told.
Only theirs with different players
equal with drama and tragedy.
The story of all the children of God
leaving the Choir of the Angles
to sing no more.
So they dance.
Starlight dust settling in young  eyes
floating from the floor, cracked and hollowed,
dust which reflect strobe lights and sparkle like moving points of light
illuminating a portion of this hall of happiness.
White on White
head to toe,
marionette dancers place ruby red kisses that blend
with rosy cheeks of innocence.
Baptizing the future of the Nation's dream,
their only consolation of hope.
For they all know
-- all too well,
it will fade come daybreak.
The dance.
Just as all dreams,
we soon forget them in time
and continue about our lives.
Somewhat changed,
somewhat older,
that much more further
into the dance
at the Starlight Ball. 

Starlight Ball  written by Shazza Nakim (c) copyright 1994 Reserved to Peace of Mind Publishings, Inc.

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