Below is one of the contest entries.
The Opera (As they Dance) He wakes up to mornings like Octobers in England. Still the path is more lit than modern December homes for- Christmas. Is on it's way again. Longing for memorable comfort throughout the blistering slanders of frost- Never did it matter, just as long as this was all through- Yet, through stage doors openly swinging, "EXIT" signs are consequently missing. Eradicated decisions to leave if he really wanted to but, Self-signed contracts are dangling from his moral conscience. They aren't quitters, so they acquit to and- Practice for the role, over and over again. Auditions are constant because characters keep changing. Rehearsed lines and prevalent cues overwhelm and subdue the stressful sweat trickling. This, is all done to- Ostentatiously perform for an audience who empty seats occupy. So will you buy a ticket for the opera, save me no seat, I've already seen it and frankly, it isn't my forte. Perplexed faces quietly challenge, The authority who displays their talent; As grim is the reaper in charge of direction, and the infamous horns ghostwrite with no mention- Of the sacrifices performers made, too translucent for the credits. With strenuous pointe-toed feet they work, to only dance for the music, only for the play. Both evils are conductors, orchestrating harmoniously what they know. -Genre more ridged than hard metal rock. More deep than blues and soul. Who can detest? When, In their ears is a beautiful symphony... Of violinists plucking the note of M16's, Sampling grenades and snipers that cry, Stage affects of dust and spilt blood and more dust appear, After sudden bombs are delivered from charters high. Danseurs aggressively pirouette from offenses, mud blanketing their camouflaged leotard-like dresses. Can you tell what you're really dancing for? What are you dancing for? No substance in their mission, It is a premonition, To collaborate screams of youths in terror, Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, Die for a cause they did not agree- to happen in their own country, a, Consummation of malice and greed, Married forever, throughout the objections and pleads But no one ever knows, no one can ever see, So will you, please, buy a ticket for the opera, save me no seat, This music of war I've already seen. Take no part, of a musical without heart, sophisticated gun play is not my forte. He wakes up, wishing his mornings were no longer like Octobers in England Longing for the blistering slanders of frost for then he knows, that he will be home this Christmas. With two "EXIT" signs in sight. He, follows lost friends of the doors lit bright - he is home alright. The sad thing is this musical will never end, Booking international tours, the opera stays the same. It's just remixes and new features, but the song... keeps... replaying. As they dance.
— Nicii Rashan
All Poems Submitted to the Contest