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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Political · #2109615
A short poem
In their white machines they travel,
the men of violence do come,
yellow and black they wear,
jack booted and full of hate.

First Intentions are good,
they swear an oath,
actions speak louder than words,
soon everything will change.

As they sit on the edge of liberty,
Into the abyss they stare,
darkness finds a way,
and with that seals their fate.

Eyes blind, ears deaf,
they slide down the slippery slope,
handshakes and aprons,
their hearts turn to stone.

Once in, there's no way out,
They have no fear,
but you should fear them,
inequality is their game.

Hatred of all things different,
sometimes thinly veiled,
democracy doesn't matter,
the Grand Master tells them what to say.

Cross one and you'll know,
turmoil you will find,
when you try to sort it,
no one will want to know.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2109615-The-slippery-slope