The mental great white north

Looking up from the bed,
The fan blades twirl around.
Always trying to gain some ground,
Yet never seeming to get ahead.
They eyes dialate,
The darckness encroaches.
The glittering broaches,
Resigned to their fate.
Excitement is sparse,
The clouds are grey.
Yet those I encounter push me away,
Society is a farce.
To say that culture is bleak,
Is still too bold.
A curse borne by the old,
Remenisence is what they seek.
A riot must start
For minds to be swayed,
New foundations made,
To create what is art.
For jester is dead,
Screeched in the sky.
The end brought night,
For prisoners cast in lead.
A failure to change,
A want for stasis,
Misery in it's basis,
Humanity's mange.
Some young, some old,
Do not stir.
At this lack of fur
They see still equals gold
And was is new is evil.
Through ignorance they speak,
For their minds are weak,
But not is their will.
Artists must take up this fight
And tear off the blanket of snow,
To let the human spirit glow,
And fade into the night.
Culture must not become a tundra,
A mental Great White North,
We must sully forth,
Don our trusty fedora,
And unite for art.

I was at : 2800-2908 NW 83rd St, Gainesville, FL 32606,