The Corridor

Confidently The door swings open, to the furthest reach of its hinges Air set alight by her presence, the crowd is drawn Swinging her arms without a care, they are boundless With steps that echo, evidently faultless and proud Cutting swiftly through the waves, the masses part instinctively The vague war cry dominates, even when it doesn't connect Refusing to settle, for any lesser impact For she will march triumphantly, through the shackled masks Comparable to puppets, they are but ghosts in a machine Hesitantly The hinges part way, as the door creeps into the room Conforming to the heard, with a silence that shall not falter Arms rigid and cutting through the air, he is curbed and confined With a muted pigeon's step, evidently nervy and fitful Hit by the torrent, subjected to an eternity of abrasion Voices resonate and surround, but this one stays muted Venomous and yet withdrawn, he refrains from making an impact For he will trudge regrettably, through the unending exchange Comparable to puppeteers, the others seem confident and free