Burning Jante

How can we travel
back, unravel, track
the reason for this
stalemated mutilated
sorrow's season?

How,

when languid apathy
consumes us dooms us
to downtrodden silent
meek sleek comfort.

Days roll, we don't,
hours stroll, we follow

into the foggy valley
of next year, one day,
some other time,
perhaps.

Well yes, we will
be beautiful,
adventurous
all that..

Of course, the future
has in store,

for us,

something
fabulous
fantastic...

But,
next week,
next year,
next life,

who knows?

Days roll, we don't,
hours stroll, we follow.

Follow,
stay in line,
be patient,
kind, they say.
Don't holler,
don't make a scene.
Don't be greedy,
only take what's given.
Life will be good,
some other day.

And so,
we settle in.
Flip a switch
on the magic box,
open wide and swallow.
Downtrodden, dreary,
dreamless, hollow.

Days roll, we don't,
hours stroll, we follow.

Yes...

Now I know,
how we can travel back,
unravel, track the anti-force
source of downtrodden,
dreary, tired, content,
strike at the heart
and rewire the value
switchboard, fused
by Jante and Order
and set us free.

Until
days roll, we fly,
hours stroll, we flutter.