The Fight of Dusk

His is ruling now,
Staff in hand waiting,
Ready for the Fight of Dusk.

The Soldier and the Old Man of Day meet.
A battle field stands between them,
Covered in small white flowers and sweet grass.

To the Old Man of Day, the Soldier calls,
"What terms be there?"
He stands tall, unyielding, now.

To the Soldier, the Old Man of Day calls,
"That my wife live free."
He strokes his beard with gnarled fingers.

To the Soldier, the Old Man of Day invites,
"What terms be yours?"
The Soldier smirks, prideful.

To the Old Man of Day, the Soldier replies,
"That you stay always, Old Man!"
The Old Man of Day smiles, quietly.

The Soldier holds up his sword.
The Old Man of Day lifts his oaken staff.
They charge, with hate and wisdom in tow.

The Soldier makes first hit,
And the Old Man of Day stumbles.
But a simple lie was the fall.

The Old Man of Day gains his footing,
Swings around with brute force.
The Soldier tries to avoid, but can't.

The Old Man of Day backs away,
Allowing the Soldier to get up.
He jumps from the ground.

Once again they meet.
Dancing around and again,
A symmetrical and terrible waltz.

Rustic though he is,
The Old Man of Day is strong.
He slowly tames the beast, the Soldier.

The soldier falls.
Piecemeal, he reaches Mother Earth.
He cries out in shame and agony.

By the side of the Old Man of Day,
A woman appears suddenly,
With beauty like the moon.

She grasps her husband's staff,
And together, hands entwined,
They swing at the Soldier.

The Old Man of Day passionately kisses his wife,
Then, with peace in heart,
Slips away into the Dusk.

As the Maiden of Night Stands,
Tall, proud, beautiful as the sea,
She begins her lament for her husband, the Old Man of Day.

She rules now,
Staff in hand waiting,
Ready for the Fight of Dawn.

Me, Myself, and My Writes

I love to write. I do. But I’m not always the best writer. Actually, I am a good writer…when I get the order of my story correct, and I know what I’m doing. I often have problems with putting things in chronological order. I write something, and then remember a detail, and so I throw it in at random. But, once again, I am getting ahead.


I am 16, and I have 4 siblings. I think that I enjoy much of the same literature as my family. I love to read. I think that I started my love of literature, books, and the written word when I was extremely young. Every night, my mom or dad would read to me: books from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes to the Serendipity Books. My dad brought home Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when I was in first grade, and I fell in love with it immediately. The more complicated the text, the more I loved it. I loved the feeling of being able to read big things, and understanding them. I loved having to think about what I read, and that lead me to try to write better.

One of the earliest things I can remember writing was a story about what vacation I would take: I chose Hawaii. I can also remember writing a paper about myself in first grade. I don’t have a middle name, and I always wanted one, and so I made one up. I was McKayla Rose Worthen. I always say that I don’t lie, and that’s true to a point. I won’t lie out loud. But on paper, I am a slightly different person; therefore, I can lie with less of a bad conscience. But I still try not to.

Oddly though, I am not a great creative writer. Great, epic tales develop in my mind, with huge vistas, complicated nations, and amazing characters, but I just can’t get them out of my head. They always get stuck somewhere between my head and my hand. But just because I get blocked doesn’t mean that I can’t finish the task at hand. I always do.

I try to find my inspiration everywhere I go. Inspiration comes at me from all sides at all times, and I try to capture it. If something hits me, then I write the idea down. If I don’t, then I loose it. Sometimes, I will write it down, and forget about it. Sometime later, I find the paper, and BOOM!!! There it is! Just when I least expect it. I love moments like those.

I can’t get inspiration in a quiet location. I need noise, and a slightly more public atmosphere. I won’t write in my room. I do it in the living room, with my parents and the TV, or even better, my music. I love writing to music. It makes me feel good. And the better I feel, the better I write.

A large amount of the inspiration I get goes into poetry. Like a lot of good poetry, it is pure emotion. I write what I feel. I love reading poetry. It inspires me to be a better writer. But I enjoy more than just the emotion. I love that it boldly defies the rules of literature, in its own special way. I myself am like that. I try not to follow the crowd.

There are some things that I hate writing about. The first of which is politics. Don’t get me wrong. I am a huge supporter of my nation, but politics are so picked over, that it is ridiculous. I hate politicians because they don’t think with their mind, they think with their wallets. Stupid people bother me, and I hate writing about stupid things. The second thing I hate writing about is patriotism. I had to write an American Legion Essay every year in elementary, and it was dull work. If I can’t get excited about a subject, then I do miserably. Finally, the third thing I hate to write is the “What did you do this summer?” paper. I’ve done that so many times that everything just runs together. If you want to know, ask me in a conversation, not on paper. Respect me.

I have a pretty simple system to my writing. I pick my topic, or receive it from the teacher. I pull out a notebook and pencil, and then try to come up with ideas about it. When I get what I want, then I use that same notebook and pencil and write my paper. I don’t like typing things first. I write better when I can write it out on paper than when I type it on the computer. I like having my own, handwritten hard copy. It makes me feel better if I loose the hard copy, or the computer saved version.

When the paper is finally written, I do the following. read, correct; reread, correct; and then read it all the way through again, just to make sure. I then pray that what I’ve got is good enough, and turn it in.

Writing: I love it, and I hate it. But no matter what, if I have something to write, I will continue to do so.