NaPoWriMo #27: The Song

We thought about the song
we're not allowed to sing.
One that inspects our happiness
and gives it a gold star.  The tune
our secret lives are wound
around, like unstoppable yo-yo's,
or python vines snapping trees.
The authorities are clear it's forbidden.
We've seen the singers return
without tongues, have heard
some were killed for their hearts.
There's no revolution in the lyrics,
which point to the four corners
of the earth, which celebrate coming
together for music, though the weather
is strong, though no one can see
beyond the storm.  Some of us wish
to bury the words, to plant them
in a deep jar in our minds.  But some
of us keep whistling it to ourselves. 
We look at each other and we know.