Untitled 81

Written for A Project in Afr.-Amer. Humanities

People crying, daddies dying,
someone send our soldiers home.
They want us out. They scream and shout,
but we won’t leave the war alone.
Gas prices are rising while Bush just keeps lying.
Still trying to gain our respect and our trust.
Is it too late to take it all back?
To help all the victims, to end this war?
Is it too late to rewind the tape?
And what the hell are we fighting for?
Nothing… but a power struggle.
Our world was dying without bushes help,
but the number of deaths this year is tragic.
It’ll take much more than a miracle
if only we had the magic.
The touch that chills us to the bones
with the thought that our soldiers will never come home
That this war never ending will leave us fighting
our own reflection in the mirror
Tossing and turning in our beds. We can’t sleep
for the fear that we may kill ourselves in the night.
And if we make it through the night
surely we will meet our downfall
at the hand of the weapons of mass destruction we call our government.
© 2005