AFTER. EDMUND. BURKE.

All political  power 
Derives from the people…
Who give their Consent 
To be Governed. 

That consent is always 
Coerced: by violence
Charisma or custom
For we are an unruly mob. 

Then we pay obeisance 
To our chosen one:
Our King of Kings
Our Shahanshah…

The light that we shine 
On them is diffracted
Upon our beaming faces:
It is the joy of the bridled. 

Circumstances sometimes
Arise, however, to disturb
This happy state….
There is unrest in the land. 

The Chosen One
Has departed from the
Instructions of the people 
By whom they were anointed. 

They pursue tyranny 
And usurpation: the light
They shone no longer
Embowers our faces. 

As the shadow gathers
The mob must consider
Its power, lurking, coiled
In its endarkened lair.