Ode to Anarchy

Waving the red, white and blue emphatically,

“Freedom!” escapes our prosaic lips

Might as well chant the mathematical expression “2+2=5”

For we are promoting a fallacy

The minute minority sees the blunt ignorance and falls away from the masses

The scarce quantity hears the chilling whisper; a soft coo

“Taste my sweet sap of freedom,” it cries, “drink from my humble cup of victory, for I am Anarchy.”

Her whispers spread quickly, arousing the mindless and growing quietly.

Her whispers echo against the walls of hierarchy, like they were entrapped in a mighty cathedral.

Authority’s heads snap in unison and immediately take action:

Smother the opposition.   

Lawmakers gather hounds while grabbing society by the neck,

Shaking it with bloodshot eyes

Their breath is rich with the slaughterhouse stench of power,

Their teeth a mossy-yellow rot of greed

With haste, the hounds are set out to hunt the scent of individuality

Gnashing their teeth, much like their masters

Society cowers under the didactic influence of the higher caste

They shout at her, labeling her

Cryptic

Iconoclastic

And tumultuous

While she stands hidden in the corner, still whispering

They find her, they beat her,

shreding her skin to chunky bits,

Marking the walls with a deep red

Muffling her sweet song of revolution

They laugh and taunt over their triumph and dance on the shards of her Fawkes mask

The uproar dissipates, and one by one,

They abandon the gory scene

But on the way out, they trip one their shackles

And drown

In

Her

Blood