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.