The World Is A Stage Poem by Sascha Petr Gregor Evan MuellerBrown

The world is a stage, and the innocent are the players
It's run by the greedy and the corrupt
The music is made of sirens, and the screams of injustice
The lights are made from fires burning all the good
The players are like puppets, or maybe even slaves
The crowd is made of all the people who bring evil to the world
They curse and laugh and throw things at the players
The shards of glass and pain and hurt come falling down in layers
The find their mark and cut and kill some of the unlucky players
They never once open their eyes and some even wear masks
No one knows why they do, but no one ever asks
They wear the mask so they don’t see who brings them hurt
And as long as they're on they really seem to work
The one man rises from the crowd, because he knew their hurt
For he was once upon the stage and treated just like dirt
As he defends those on the stage
The crowd grows with a terrible rage
They break the man who did what’s right and throw him on the stage
The crowd cheers for them to fight, like animals in a cage
The only beast are in the crowd, laughing at their brother
Cause when he is on the stage, he is part of all the others
But the players on the stage look out for one another
The show will finally come to end, and the crowd will soon disperse
And leave the players the most broken and alone, in the universe
A person can usually tell a player from the crowd
Only when they're one themselves do they speak a loud
Even though they have been beat they're better people than most
They never hurt, or scream or cry, They'll never even boast
Even if you’re not a player don't be one of the crowd
And if you are a lonesome player, then you should be proud
Because the only people you can trust are players
And you can never trust the crowd

To all my fellow players on the stage I thank you for being true
and know that all the players will always be there for you