The End of The Party

I gaze upon dark windows,

Frozen to their dark, deadly stare.

I see the endless empty space where

A rhythmic rumble once filled the air.

I smell the dank decay 

Of idle, rusting engines rotting in the grave,

And fill the yawning cavern with

An idle worker’s daze.

Who drove the mass unnumbered

To make the behemoth go?

Made sex appeal a salesman’s dream and

Sold the the gadget's glow?

Where are the golden nuggets

That flew into the bank?

Where are the Wall Street numbers

That turned the money crank?

All lies in pretty shambles

Upon the trading floor,

And midst the cries of “Crisis!” 

Is sneaking out the door.

And then again the worker,

With union raised on high

To take their place in dignity

On shouts of “Unite or die!”

Where are the rules books lying now?

What do they now protect?

Where is the time of life secure;

Who stands within to object

From inside empty walls now gone

Who has a place to go?

The source of wage and comradeship

Resounds with joy no more.

And what of happy buyers,

Where are the dreams of yore?

What’s left to fill the owners days?

What came to rust the toys?

What happened to the mortgaged home

Where once the music played?

For now the piper comes back round,

And surely must be paid.

But somehow midst the wreckage,

I cannot join the dance

Of dirges from the Reaper Grim

I know the smell that comes from him,

And death he’ll sing if you let him in,

But I say “Not a chance!”  

I’ll try to walk in earnest

Upon a different path;

To let my judgments float on by

And focus on the earth and sky,

To forge ahead I’ll surely try 

To drink of hope at last.

I have no plan or purpose,

Beyond the current day,

At least, that is, I know my plans

Will crash upon a rocky land

And leave me on the other hand

With naught left but to play.

And if you see a banner

furling from my staff,

It’s just to join in simple life,

And at our foibles laugh.