Poem written by EveOfRevolution on Monday 7, May 2007

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Describes the true battle that the game of dodgeball really is.

Overall Rating: 95%

This writing has been rated by 1 members, resulting in a rating of 95% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

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It's a war of attrition. A reminder of the great battles of old, Fought by our forefathers. An epic struggle: Gods versus Titans, Brave men pitted agains brothers On a hallowed battle-ground we call the wrestling room. The teacher blows the whistle, A horn commanding the troops to charge. Both sides struggle and kill in the first assault, Then back away. Reform the line! Mortal enemies clash again for revenge, But no forfeiting this time. To the death! All hell breaks loose, The air thick with tension and The pulsating fear of the condemned in the sights of the firing squad. The air hums as rockets rush inches from their faces, Booming bombs blast the broken wall, And instant martyrs cry out in agony. Occasionally two projectiles collide in midair. This is war. The team captain directs his men, Unleashing his master plan after deducing The other general's grand strategy. First, he sends forward his attackers; Brave and ruthless killers all. Eager for blood and Not afraid to die. They are the reckless gym-class heroes. Among these men are the rare samurai, Who have mastered dodgeball as an artform. The most elite unleashed, Like wolves among sheep. Then there is the executioner, A giant of a man; Delivering utter destruction In profound rage. The silent assassin lurks forward Unknown even to his own men; Carefully selecting his target and Dealing a swift death with uncanny accuracy. Finally come the knights: The shock troops, Trampling down the enemy in a thunderous roar, And ensuring the fallen are quickly dealt with. Finally there are the survivors: Those who linger in the rear. They have no heart for all-out onslaught, But relish in the endgame. They are the last of a dying breed, A courageous battalion of Spartans against the Persian Empire. They are passionate for vengeance, The army's last gasp for victory. The opposing army is just as powerful; Maybe more assassins, Maybe no executioner, Or maybe better survivors. Whatever the compatablity, Two armies meet On the field of glory To do battle. After the dust settles and the smoke clears, The aftermath reveals nothing but utter destruction. Bodies litter the field, Blood flooding where The victors stand, And the defeated stare in disbelief. This is war. Dodgeball

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    This has got to the be the most epic poem about dodgeball ever written. Grin You capttured the essence of the game, and seriously brought my back to my days playing it in gym class (I was assassin type)

    Very nice work!