PART 3: COMING STORM
I dream of the histories that I've read,
of the revolutions told,
and I see on the pages angry crowds
making destiny unfold.
I long for the sound of the guillotines,
for the rage that trips the blade,
for the dying screams of the kings and queens
as a new foundation is laid.
I dream every night of the searing heat
from the flames of changing times,
as an empire burns or a tyrant begs
for forgiveness of his crimes.
For the oily smell of the kerosene,
for the torches eerie light,
while an angry mob burns a nation clean
as the masses squeal in delight.
Till the righteous mob, in its victory
will create a just domain
but degenerate in the years to come
till the mobs again will reign.
And I'd love to live through the blood soaked nights
watching tyrannies dissolve,
when the howls of rage and the violent sights
make society evolve.
So I look ahead to the future years,
toward a coming history,
for democracy to come crashing down
by a future mobs decree.
And I smile at our leaders on TV,
as my dreams begin to form,
for I see in their own hypocrisy
the clouds of the coming storm.