Fascist State
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.
Copyright © John Wilowski | Year Posted 2016
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