Tip of the tongue
From their swallered peak
A voice lets out a shriek;
“Follow me and my ways
Follow my lead”
Grab your pitch-forks
and torches
And they do.
Tacit permission from a trusted voice
a Trust soon to be broken in reason and form
For we all believe things that are said and done
By hypocrites and prophets
We all do at some point; I suppose?
“Were you the cause of all these evils?”
I ask,
“No”, is the reply
conveniently you can hide behind your words
and say they were taken out of context.
That the violence that ensued
had nothing to do with you
or your sacred pulpit
or your will that you imbued
into your surrogate killers
commuting onto them
torture and murder
Evil bastard
though you may not have pulled the trigger
You gave them the idea
While hiding behind plausible deniability
taking no responsibility for your gifts
or the dark fruits that they yield
Incite a lynch-mob and you become
a hero to some
and a proxy-assassin to others
Vilify your detractors and they become
caricatures worthy of no quarter
Demonize your opponents and soon you'll see
Wasted lives amid a sea of tumultuous circumstances
victims of happenstance
For the surrogates Master is a coward
Knowing full well that your Words have consequences
Written in blood and the dreadful heart
Tearing families apart
for political gain.
You're the Devils foot-soldier.
