Of Playwrights and Authors


You can burn us or behead us,

But we have the guts.

We will not take this lightly.

Oh yes, we'll strike back wisely.

So here we are—spiraling in circles down, down, down.

Yet, as we plunge into the ocean, we shan't drown.

You can never take our crown of pride.

So we come back with the tide,

For that is what this nation is built upon.

With our strength, we rise at dawn,

And take back what is rightfully ours.

Yes, it may take many hours.

Maybe even days, but do not lose hope.

Nor should you mope.

Rise to your feet.

We shall not take a seat.

We see a crime, an injustice.

We shall not rest with an armistice.

Not that one was offered.

Of this story we are the playwrights and authors.

So go to war we shall,

And there is much over that hill,

Many bodies and blood,

For we do hold a grudge.

No we will not be at peace.

Until we are released,

From these evil clutches of thee,

Which we shall, I guarantee.


Oh look. Another poem from my English class, except this year I have a different teacher, who's pretty cool. Well anyways, we were supposed to write a poem about war, peace, 9/11, America, patriotism, or a couple of other things I can't remember right now. Sorry about the odd spacing; I still don't know how to do that. Well, tell me what you think please.

—cxnturixs