the rule of the dictator

fist slams down on the dark oak desk
papers fall to the floor landing on the awoken dog
the dictator screams at his generals, his beard is long
His hair is slowly graying, wrinkles are forming on his face
His worst enemy is aging, a never ceasing killer
The cigar in his mouth is unlit, smokeless and soaked in the mans saliva
So many people killed, so many hurt by just one man
The only power they have is to let age do its job
But what if someone like him takes his place?
Could they ever have someone for the people and not against them?
Tyranny runs deep in the veins of the dictator