The uproar had climaxed to a chaotic murmur of violence;
her voice did nothing but antagonize the beasts,
cursing and chanting, biting and shoving.
Her voice cooed,
seducing the simple minded into an ape-like rage;
they'd sign their own death-warrants.
The laws were in place to keep control,
not to display compassion from the State;
did they not know?
The crowd threw themselves at the front-lines,
disregarding law and order,
passing crude judgement as they swayed against it.
Mist and smoke met plastic slugs,
and steel embraced beast.
The mob charged its captors,
like a horde of intoxicated animals;
a chill voice overhead barking obscenities.
There was no turning back now;
bitter rage spurred anxious violence,
and she did nothing but grin as revenge became a forced option.
Her hand was not on the gun,
but her desire made puppets of her men;
their anger and hatred was shared.
A gift only a mad man would cherish,
but had yet become the corner stone of the iron grasp.
Flashes of discontent exploded crimson red,
flesh and bone conjoined with night and smoke;
wars of past and gone were mere blurbs in a time-line of death.
Bodies collapse against the cool stone,
families cut and severed; all sense of humanity ripped from all.
The men in black simply mimic her;
destroy and annihilate those whom oppose them.
She tosses her hair in a disturbed bellowing laughter,
for through insanity,
she sees nothing but truth.
Control is everything.
Humans thrive on the tug of chains,
the binding of cuffs and locks.
What control she lost had merely been returned
as the binding of Death's hand;
taking away what will never be hers.
Yet, even He tosses a gentle smile at the scene.
Perhaps she cannot hold them back,
but at least she'll feed the ones she cannot contain
back to him.
A hunger unending; His true thirst can only be quenched
by the smooth, decomposing flesh
of the Mother feeding him.