De-humanization performed.
Idols grew larger than life.
Icons forgot their weight.
VIPs replaced the scale.

Perfection became the standard. The standard stopped being human.

Vision drowned in effect. Everyone in focus told a story. None of them knew the present.

Then the pendulum struck back.
Not as revolt.
As exhaustion.
As noise that erased itself.
As stories that could no longer carry time.

Society did not climb higher ground.
It turned around.
It reclaimed the house
while the fire was already
inside the walls.

People stopped asking for direction. They asked for containment. For care. For something that holds while everything else fails.

They searched for a well while the house burned.
But the wells were dry.
Time had collapsed with them.

Some ran into the fire.
They held beams.
They slowed the end.
They saved rooms selflessly
for the next occupants.

Later came those from the back rows.
Intact.
Connected.
With language, plans,
and a future that fit them.

They followed the brave and called it order.

But worse than those who arrived late were those who waited from the beginning— who wanted the fire to finish its work.

Because ashes are simpler than repair. Because nothing is easier to govern than what no longer exists.

The house was never the problem. The fire was not an accident.

One cannot know the future.
It waits behind the next bend.
And in that bend
one cannot even see the present.

But we know this:
the house is burning.