In a utopian society, there is no war
No starvation
Those who fall sick merely vanish
Whisked away so that they don’t contaminate others
Problems drift far away, like orange-red leaves from an autumn tree
Religion is exiled
Churches long scorched by fire and smoke, charred scriptures gone from the ashes
Thoughts are thrown in the same fiery pit as books
Museums are all closed until further notice, art taking a backseat to conformity
Everyone looks the same
All wearing forest-green shirts, name-tags with the words of their caste
Lining up behind each other, waiting to be instructed
Because alone, they are clueless about what steps to take
“Individualism is unhealthy,” the government loudspeaker booms out
“There is strength in numbers.”