Complete (an acrostic poem)

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Carnage had been prophesied since the day of her birth

Obliterate the evil, or else she would fail, and the world would burn

Many people tried to guide her, their interests, they felt, were the same as hers

Pulling her six different ways at once, she ended up pitting them against each other

Letting their division give her the room to find her own way

Everything was going well.  The darkness was beaten back.

The final battle took place, and in the end, she was victorious

Everyone’s cheers turned to screams when she didn’t stop and began attacking them

Destiny (an acrostic poem)

Determined to be the great hope since birth

Emily always had the burden of being the chosen one

She was chosen to watch her sisters, chosen to become a doctor

Then she was chosen for lifting her family out of poverty

It was enough to be soul-crushing

Never was she allowed to do something just for herself

Yet when she finally fulfilled all the predictions she took her own life as a way of claiming it back

 

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In Search of Immortality

As a writer, the stories are inside and you have to coax them out.  There are times when it is hard, they want to stay private.  Other times they explode, tearing parts of you apart while you give them life.  No matter what, the desire to watch them live and grow is just like that of a parent.  The great thing about kids is they eventually live and grow on their own.  No matter what you do, short of barbarism, to stop them from becoming their own function humans.  Your story is never that way until you hand it to another being.  Then and only then do your stories take an identity all their own.  They live away from you and in the reader’s mind.  As such they move out and grow in a different way.  If others take your stories and talk about them with friends, well they multiply again and continue with new lives.  The great stories will never die, be them Hamlet, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, or Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.  They will live and multiply through reading and discussions until the end of humanity.  What writer would not want to know that their stories will live forever?  Isn’t that the most we as parents can hope for, to touch on the human conscious and give our children immortality?