The Prize

in the silent darkness,

winter’s stiffness takes hold,

as yesterday’s warmth,

gives way to tomorrow’s cold;

the mist of time

shrouds itself,

with a veil

of unseen sorrow,

as mighty gentle giants

throw stones

at posterity,

crumbling it to the ground,

to make room

for another concrete monument,

the children listen

to the voice

of their colored god,

and it tells them

who they are,

and where they are going,

and how to get there,

and why it must be so,

and it helps them forget;

seven hundred feet below,

the end quietly waits

in a world all it’s own,

just like a prize

in a cracker jacks box.

.

.