Poem: Torches & Pitchforks

With crackling torches lit
And pitchforks raised,
The peasant horde

Marches ungoverned,
Searching for real
And confected monsters.

The posse is a mindless beast,
And the agglomerated mob
Brims with blood-lust

And madness. The whole
Is far less than the sum
Of its parts:

Each new body adds mass,
But each fresh outrage
Diminishes the hive's brain.

One if by land; two if by sea.
They're coming for you
And coming for me.
---o0o---