The night is black
Without a moon
The air is thick and still.
The vigilantes gather on
The lonely torch lit hill.
Features distorted
in the flickering light,
The faces are all
twisted and grotesque.
Silent and stern
in the sweltering night.
The mob moves
like demons possessed.
Quiet in conscience,
calm in their right.
Self-righteously confident
their ways are best..
(living for their image,
in a life so hollow.)
The righteous rise
with burning eyes,
of hatred and ill-will.
Mad people feed
on fear and lies.
They beat and burn hate
into their children.
They say that
strangers threaten us
(immigrants and infidels)
They say there is a
strangeness to danger.
(The one we fear,
the lowliest among low
raca exist within us.)
In our theaters, in our pallaces
and on our book shelves,
they say that those who
know what's best for us
must rise and save us from ourselves.
Quick to judge!
Quick to anger!
Slow to understand!
Ignorance and prejudice
walk hand in hand with fear.
(Living shapeless
among the Shadows)
©infj-loki
A