The Meek Inherit the Whirlwind

A daylight daze has been removed to a dark city in a DC Comic. Nations have swallowed their tongues, have become a caped parody of an undeclared independence. The good are caught in the search lights, the bullet heads and bare-faced bad run the globe, turn the coats, unify the unwilling sheep into lambs until liberty itself is the aberration. The enemy is a suit stuffed with daemonic dandruff reserved to snow job the helpless. There is a new world order now for the meek, weak and bolder. Globalist's glob onto the taste of power. Our super heroes are pot-bellied and cancelled. RoboCop is now a peace poet; he gently rants in a soundproof basement, writes sonnets to forget the already forgotten. Tears and beers freefall behind crumbling walls, we must add too tight tights to the list of all our ripping sorrows, shake enfeebled fists as menacing shadows gather and we ever willing to cast accusing looks upon each other.