Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral

Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral, And can only live through brief stints, sporadic in time and deed, Through the harshest force of terror, its heart locked within shadow; It silently prepares to rule through fear, for such is its path to ascend. "Children of the world, unite!" is the cry, but it's a cry muffled by deeply implanted fears, They hammer nails of "justice" into half-informed minds as into hard, thick wood, To steal away the thought of self, to wring out reason to the last drop, And to build within them a clean conscience for the dirty game they are doomed to play. Crumbling on stage, this globalism cloaks words in noble masks of care and well-being, But beneath them, the whisper of ancient chains lays upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting. A world that rolls towards unity, yet breaks into pieces of ice and silence, In their play, we become unsuspecting pawns, in a game that pawns its future for naught.