The land of Depression

Yellow, faded, almost dead, slow, in mud, yet to be born.

The self-sabotage, the sound-barrier, and the stale food.

Waves of my ancestors, in the land of Depression.

The old man, the little boy, who’s father shot

By any old soldier, in any old Land.

By men who themselves saw their fathers die, and then to fall into a haze of wine and violence

In them all, a little boy, and a little girl.

All alone

In the Land of Depression.

Kristoffer Myklebust Roland-Svendsen

2022