What's The Point?

I lived in a glorious sphere,
Milling and bouncing about;
Now, I merely crawl here,
Round seeds yet to sprout.

I wait to be raised high,
With millions who too pine,
To be closer to the sky,
A home that once was mine.

But, the ground shrinks,
Into ever more narrow strips;
Is it soon to end, the jinx,
With the last leg of our trips?

Losing what does define
One without, pulled within,
Confined to one long line,
Will we march to our origin?