Femme FataleThe 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