The Chosen One

A child stands before a crowd,

Small and feeble amongst the giants

Of adulthood.

 

The people have offered up a sword,

Ancient, yet without rust,

For the child to wield on their adventure

To cast evil from all the lands.

 

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,”

They mutter meagerly,

And a voice from the heavens

Is gently cast

Upon the ears of the tyke.

 

“No one is ever ready,”

The sweet voice assures.

A small hand reaches for the hilt,

But stops short.

 

“This isn’t the job of a child.

I am no Chosen One, I am me.

Nothing more, nothing less.”

The child grimaces, hand retreating

From the relic and pointing

Into the crowd.

 

“I am no savior. I am no hero.

I am no champion of the people;

I will not play the role of a pawn.

You have aged with strength and wisdom,

Cast out the evil yourselves.

This is a crisis that started with you

And should end the same.”

The child turns on their heel and leaves.

Author's Note

It's essentially a story, but in poem format? I'm not entirely sure.

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Classical style with eloquent wordage. Hoorah for that wise child! Turnabout is fair play. What the adults have put in motion, the adults should take responsibility for. "Cast out the evil yourselves"- and stop sending innocent children to fight the wars of their misguided elders. So masterfully written, meaningful and oh so relevant. Excellent.