A Report By Jack Burden

My name is Jack Burden.
I am a reporter.
Information and dedication is the key to my success.
Anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Three stories are mine to tell,
My life, my world, my time.

Willie Stark is his name,
and boy, oh boy, is politics his game.
But as they say,
All good things must come to an end.
Some people have such a knack
For creating the best out of a bad situation
That they go around making bad situations
So that they can make the best of them.
Willie, oh, Willie,
Why'd you have to get involved?
Knowledge was your downfall,
And power was your tool.

Then there is the Scholarly Attorney.
His weakness disgusts me.
There was no way that he could have bourne me,
He was just too good.
To follow in his footsteps
Would be wasteful and useless.
Ellis, your holy ways consumed you,
after foulness had engulfed you.
Sweet and innocent,
Too innocent for my liking.

Next comes Judge Irwin,
A real swell guy he was.
Always there for me when I needed him,
Just like a father.
Not too corrupt, and not too shy,
The perfect balance amidst the chaos.
Friendly, yet serious;
Suttle, yet powerful.

Now it is I who must write my own story.
The Trinity put forth,
but who to follow?
Corruption, innocence, or somewhere in between?
That's enough for now,
I dug up too much already, and it's
Time to return to the present.
But don't worry, I'll be back.

college essay

"Oh, come on, come with us!" my best friend whined as she confidently scribbled her name on the service sign-up sheet. As each one of my friends scratched their names on the list, I glanced hesitantly at the service site description: Soup Kitchen. Oh no. I had heard about that place, the grimy, filthy, diseased-filled soup kitchen. Bums and perverts filed in every day looking for a handout while greasily hitting on the volunteers. No way, not for me. But, before I had time to express a slightest complaint, my name was forged onto the list as the last space filled.

As I cautiously idled into the parking lot, my fears were confirmed. Outside, a line had already started to develop, and I considered reversing my car right back out of the parking lot, but before I could ponder the consequences, I saw my friend making her way over to where I was parked. She pulled me right out of the car and ran with me inside to where I was instantly handed an apron and a pair of latex gloves.

What I originally thought of as a headache ended up being a blessing. These people weren't perverts looking for handouts; these were ordinary people dealing with what life had issued them. Seeing mothers reassure their children that tomorrow they would return and consume one more meal that they might have not had; seeing fathers wrap up their own meal so that their child could have another meal that night; seeing the gratefulness in their eyes when families are asked if they would like another serving of mashed potatoes; seeing the heartache in parent’s faces when all of the extra bread is gone; and seeing the look of utter desperation when explaining to a child why they couldn’t eat like this at home. These are the observations that made me realize how much of life itself I take for granted, and ultimately allowed me to press forward to try to understand the human condition, and uncover a purpose behind life, beyond the basic need for survival.

I came to this conclusion: if the world and all its elements acted independently, with no other regard for anything else, there would be no hope or faith of a greater scheme. As I continue to learn from this experience, I intend to try to inspire the community around me, to reach out, as I have, and begin molding a better world for the remainder of this generation, and the ones to come.

Two-Face

Hey, you up there. Yea you.
You chip off the ol’ block.
Christ you were a smart guy,
With the sweetest little wifey,
And the swellest kids ever.
A good little bloke with a pure heart.
Can you hear the fluttering whispers of the faint angel voices up there?
Wow you left a jolly happy- brute creation down here,
But now you’re como un santito.

Yea, well ignorance is bliss, and all good men hope for peace.
If your eyes get starry with tears again, I’m gunna have to puke.

Hey you down there. Yea you.
You crazy, funny ol’ fat man.
Christ, you talk like a snot,
With your little squirt- face.
You were as dumb as a hoot owl,
And the stinkingist louse God ever let live.
You god-damned sap with your thick wooden head.
You stupid, stupid, stupid , good-for-nothing piece of sawdust.
But now you’re gone. I guess God answered our prayers.