The Obelisk

There's a obelisk made of men, in a dark place. There's a man at each corner of it's foot. I am one of them, bearing the weight of many souls above me. Every day I watch more climb the building to find their place in the wall. I dutifully hold my place, though the weight becomes more crushing with each new brick. I fear to leave the obelisk. It is my home, my society. I tell myself to hold my place and hold my breath. Breathing only accentuates the pain. If I leave, the obelisk will fall. At least, that's what I am told to believe. I can't risk it, even though I loath the weight. If I leave, the tower will fall in my direction. I see a light in the dark, between all the souls climbing and clambering to take their place. There's an obelisk of stone, white stone. It's a light place not far from here. To hell with the walls. To hell with this dark place. If the wall comes crashing down on me as I run. So be it, it has to be better than bearing all the weight.