Tour de Force

The pen hits the glass
and the war begins.
This group is destroying itself,
being shredded apart from within.

To remain neutral is not doable;
I'm absorbing the pressure from all sides.
I sit here and watch the bloodshed,
hoping the stars will realign.

All I've learned here
is competition's a force fierce.
Recognizing that all my I must do is work for the
course,
I see enduring their stress is my tour de force.

Rocks shift from side to side.
The slaughterous vocals rise.
I run like hell to hide.
I can't let this reach my eyes.

Still,though,I'm here to observe.
I'm to be the only witness.
When off course the tense warriors swerve,
only I will be able to steer them back.

All I know now is this hurts
and that this doesn't justify the perks.
Yelling for armistice is making me hoarse,
and surviving their anger is my tour de force.

Glass splinters into the rich soil
that can't blend with the sand.
Sadly reminds me it does
of the situation at hand.

Their screams turn to fists turn to
defamation of reputation.
Not taking a side leaves me wondering
Is this war or emancipation?

All I've dicovered is we aren't united.
It could never happen with tension so heightened.
On each other they only close doors,
and stalling disunion is my tour de force.

They launch their pen guns,
taking aim at each other's eyes.
I must leave,for this won't be fun,
but then who would tell the story?

Shoot,oh they do,
and all fall down,down from grace.
For their own integrity,they've left themselves
screwed.
Now all they are are teenagers,humble in
everything.

All I've seen is total destruction
of a group meant to perfectly function.
I'm left with a deafness brought by their roars.
Being left to discuss the implosion is my tour de
force.