1984

A gelid world of silent strangers,

Where the heartless pass you by.

Wasting time a constant danger,

Truth and meaning morbid lies.

A quest for glory in an early grave,

The definition of a productive life.

Freedom earned only to be a slave,

The world your cell the prison life.

Oh George Orwell how could you,

Have been so terribly right.

The dictionary now lists post-truth,

As a word that bears unrivalled might.