Young Writers Project

Trapped in a cult

like father, like son.

Bowing down to prejudice,

is this really what won?

The day after the election

all my eyes could pour

were endless tears,

crying hope for no war.

Pledge your life to liberty and justice,

raise your hand and take an oath to serve and protect,

who are you protecting though?

I watch the news and see agents hurting the innocent,

children,

The beetle flies into 

the lamppost until it 

falls dead on to 

the harsh concrete below

But you want it pretty