This was another poem we wrote for and English class project about social protest:
The war of the oppressed,
With soldiers of the mind, and guns of the heart,
Time is their worst enemy, yet their most valuable
commodity,
I watch them from my heaven as they tear my world apart.
With his scarred red eyes, white face, and black mouth,
He is blinded by the blood of a red rose, yet tries to
reason with himself,
But his mind walks a path while his heart runs another,
He sets his flag ablaze and melts the ice on his frozen
gun,
Pulls the trigger and rips out the life of a mother,
By their own people they are brought up,
And it is their own people they bring down.
Why are they acting as puppets of the Supremo,
When with their own two hands can outdo the extreme?
