Ottawa's Festival of Ideas Since 1997


As I look around my shell,

I think of the future.
I compare my past to hell,

In this rabid, foreign culture.

The lights flicker,
My hands are pale,
I feel a bit sicker,
As I remember how I fail.

Time and time again,
Pile clutters atop,
The time I think of as then,
And I feel letters depict a word – STOP.

There is always hope,
After all,
A rainbow choose to cope,

Before it withers to an imperceptible wall.

Lack of perception,

Can lead us astray,
Into the air of deception,

And that is how we fall away.

Abundance of realism,

Gives us the belief of identity,

Like a determined pianist,

We are the epitome of,

The future.

This is life’s culture.