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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required FASCIST STATE They did not come upon us like blitzkrieg in the night or goose step into town like a plague of parasites. They crept on us like shadows in increments so small they did not seem, at first, to be that menacing at all. But an eerie posture lurking in those twisted silhouettes triggered in my senses the twinges of a threat. So when I turned to look at it what loomed before my eyes was a figure black in battle dress, fully weaponized. The more I studied it the more my inclinations ran to perceive it as an insect rather than a man. It was clad in armor that formed a battle skin like some science fiction creature’s exoskeleton. Peering like a mantis, devoid of all remorse, it assumed the posture of a ruthless brutal force. Unmoving, it awaited some unsuspecting prey to trigger programmed instincts into deadly play. It was not a thinking thing but a proxy sent to execute agendas of torture and torment. It was posted as a sentry by a calculating hand to reinforce the stranglehold of evil in command. Secure in it’s status as an instrument of pain it stood rigid in a posture of arrogant disdain. it’s value was its ignorance, it did not comprehend that it would be destroyed when its purpose came to end. It emanated coldness so inhuman that it seemed to have stepped from a nightmare to stomp upon a dream. The whole landscape of existence changed dramatically beneath the hostile presence of such raw authority. Where once the streetlights offered sanctuary in their rays they now morphed into searchlights hunting down a prey. Sirens screamed atrocities that took the aspect of a jackboot psychopath with a fist inside a glove. Beneath the cyborg menace was evil more discrete skulking in the think tanks, and the bunkers of deceit. A covert insurgency of social engineers bent on the subjugation of the hemispheres. Through orchestrated episodes of endless global war they reveled in their orgies of sabotage and gore. The sentry was the whipping tip of the chain of command lashed across the back of every dominated land. What darkness of impressions an image can command when the shadow of a fascist state falls across a land.
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