Future Canada
Upon the tides of fate, there stood a land
Once mighty, draped in law and firm decree.
Yet time, relentless, with a patient hand
Had stripped its grand facade of dignity.
What once had thrived—a beacon shining bright—
Now lay in ruin, hollowed by neglect.
No longer did its people seek the light;
They fought for breath, with nothing left to protect.
The cities, once alive with commerce grand,
Lay broken, shattered husks of stone and glass.
Their glory, lost to time’s unyielding sand,
Eroded, left to rot as years did pass.
Like crumbling statues, worn by rain and frost,
The structures stood as ghosts of wealth and pride.
No leaders led, for all control was lost,
And only those who wielded strength survived.
Gone were the laws that once had ruled the streets,
Their force dissolved, their writ reduced to ash.
The gangs arose, their power naught defeats,
A reign of blood secured with blade and cash.
No longer were these factions brushed aside,
For now they held dominion without fear.
By cunning, strength, and silence they abide,
Their whispers guiding fate both far and near.
The Wassi’s reign, their name a whispered curse,
The Point’s domain, a kingdom ruled by steel.
These lords of crime, their rule a fate perverse,
With power spun through treachery and deals.
The Driftwood kings with poison paved their path,
And Dixon’s trade brought ruin by the dose.
They saw no need for law, nor feared its wrath—
Their rule was swift, their justice sharp and close.
The halls where healers once upheld their trade
Now stood as tombs where suffering took root.
No cure remained, no kindness lent its aid,
For those in need had none to seek refute.
The doctors, powerless, watched as the tide
Of anguish swelled beyond their weary hands.
No sudden fall marked when their hope had died—
It crumbled slow, like time upon the sands.
As winter’s breath did howl across the land,
The bitter wind struck deep through flesh and bone.
The helpless fell, left lifeless where they stand,
Their names forgotten, left to die alone.
The streets became a graveyard cold and white,
The frost a silent, merciless embrace.
Yet those in power turned away their sight,
Unmoved by death, untouched by guilt or grace.
No longer did the people seek the state;
They placed their trust in those who met their needs.
The price was high, the bargains laced with fate,
Yet power lay in action—not in creeds.
Survival was the law that now remained,
And strength alone dictated who would stand.
The warlords ruled, their sovereignty unchained,
Their banners flown by blood and outstretched hand.
So fell the land, not shattered in a flash,
But worn away by slow and callous rot.
No fire consumed, no heavens loosed their wrath,
Just whispers lost and promises forgot.
No sudden end, no trumpet rang to call,
Just silence deep, the echo of decay.
As warlords carved dominion from the fall,
They forged a world where only might held sway.
“BUY. BELIEVE. OBEY.”
You no read magazine. Magazine read you.
“Isolation Training.” — Alone room, alone mind. Patterns show. Attention valuable. Choice possible but hidden.
“Emotion Engineered.” — Screen push, heart pull. Fear, joy, anger measured, replayed, optimized.
“Winter Commerce.” — Buy warmth. Buy distraction. Buy ritual. Obey for small comfort. Repeat.
“Observe or Obey.” — Quiet show control. Recognize loop. Then maybe step out.
“Subtle Captivity.” — Cold, dark, routine, media. Habit stronger than desire. Mind tethered, invisible chains.
Thoughts captured by #GreatguyTV