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March 10, 2008
It is an ok day I guess, I got to see the school play, The Diviners, finally. It was pretty cool, one of my friends did an awesome job with the sound track on it. I finally got home and guess who is there; Mother, *twitch*, I really do care about her with her situation and all, but I wish she would give me a break every now and then. I don't think she realizes it, but she takes her anger from not being able to really do anything school-wise for me out on me. I know she feels crappy because she was able to do all sorts of stuff in band for my brother as well as army stuff for my oldest brother, but she is too weak to be able to attend my school and band needs. She feels like she is a terrible parent and is thus angry. I don't know what I'm going to do.
I turned in an awesome poem I wrote myself over the weekend on my way to Fort Hood, TX to see my oldest brother Joe. I liked it but none of my family are realy ones who like to write or read poetry, a few of them actually read books often. I know they wouldn't care, but I just wish they would actually and truely listen to me for once, but again I'm not sure what to do.
poem:
A sharp cry,
A flash of silver,
The mist of blood,
The battle has started.
Bystanders watch,
This perilous war unfold,
The cavalry take a stand,
The archers take their mark,
But resistance is futile.
Many have fallen,
To the wave,
Of the gatling,
Fallen,
Never to rise again.
The samurai strike,
Pinpoint accuracy,
Their spirits cannot be expunged,
But resistance is futile.
The dawn of a new day breaks,
The rebels regroup,
What is this now?
The enemy return seemingly unscathed!
A flare of mutiny!
Among the rebels,
Many a heart is corrupted,
To black pitch,
The rebels try to recover,
But resistance is futile.
The mutinous are down,
But here comes the creature,
Whose name has been called The Devourer.
We fight on,
A fire of benevolence,
We strike at The Devourer,
But resistance is futile.
The final piece of the puzzle!
We realized the futility of our plight,
As the darkness falls,
For the last time,
Upon our shoulders.
Ambush.
The word escaped languidly from our leader's mouth.
We were thrashed,
In the fires,
Of our enemy's wrath.
All that remained was nobody,
Nobody,
No heart,
No soul...
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