Wild waves come rushing in,

Crashing, breaking on the rocky shore,

Filling the air with salty spray.

They roar and foam like wild beasts,

Made with rage, unable to touch us,

To hurt me and mine, safe within our house of stone.

The storm howls ‘round about us,

Screaming winds pull and push,

Like giants of Goliath’s race,

Hating those of David’s faith,

(I wrote this a while ago while reading Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," and I just found it again. It's from Calphurnia's point of view - Caesar's wife.)

I hear a shouting in the steets:
"Liberty!" they cry. "Tyranny's dead!"
Their robes are torn and crimson-stained;
The Senate floor's awash with red.

You have torn me from my lover -
Take me then, and reunite!
There's no better day to die;
I dreamed of death the other night.

The others cry, they shout for vengence.
What care I for revenge today?

*The final chapter. There will be an epilogue, too.

          The road to nowhere. Or that's what it seems like anyways. Heading west on Interstate 10 with my mom, dad, brother, sister, dog, cat, and myself. Miles of empty land stretching out all around us. Small hills here and there. A lot of yellowish-greenish grass. Dry. Like no water has touched their roots in ages. My cat finally sleeps peacefully after an hour of meowing. My brother is immersed in his video game. I wonder if he will keep his neck down for that long, the whole trip. 10 more hours. 10 more hours. I can make it.

                  Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in the town on Cambridge. His name was Timmy. Cambridge was a very small town and the school where Timmy went was even smaller. There were only about one hundred students at his school and there was one kid in particular that had given Timmy trouble from the very start. Jimmy Sizzle.

We all want to be many things. For example, I want to be, firstly, a writer. Also, I want to be a beekeeper, sail-boater, published author, botanist, and possibly mother someday. And the list keeps growing. 

But with all these ideas, interests, and ambitions comes discouragement, because it is very easy to let that mean little voice inside tell you, "You can't do that." And you... you believe that little voice. It is hard to squash it. 

How sad she looked in the muddy street,
As the world went rumbling by,
"Help me,"  she whispered to the trotting feet,
But no one heard her cry.

Perhaps a passer stopped to look,
But none would stop to aid
So to her knees she sadly took
And through her tears she prayed,

And as she knelt in pouring rain
The sun shone through the clouds
And made a little shining stain
Of light upon the crowds

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