Author's note-In school we had to write a poem about the influence of power and such and this is what I came up with...it reminded me of Voldemort quite a bit, so it ended up here. This is my first thing in a while, 'cause I had leukemia...but don't worry if you're a White Houses reader, I'll be posting more to that as soon as I can(:

He Who Was Powerful

"There is no such thing as good or evil, only power-and those too weak to seek it."

-Voldemort, Harry Potter and the Philosopher s Stone, J.K. Rowling

What have you done to yourself?
Who have you become, why have you changed for the worse?
You may think you re strong, you re immortal. No, you re inhumane. What flows through your veins? Blood, no. Adrenaline, strength, weakness, ambition, cunning?
Power?

I remember you. The poor, unfortunate boy, who was yet so innocent.
I remember bright eyes and starry nights.
Hopes and dreams and visions, not yet clouded by the influence of selfish desire.
I remember a voice, as crisp and clear as the wind and air, saying that one day, you would have power over your life, complete control. You vowed to do whatever it takes.

I knew you.
The desperate searches, the final attempts.
I knew you told me it would be the last time you tried to gain that much power.
Fear, fear, was what you felt, but there was also excitement, a rush. I knew you would try again. And you would succeed. You would conquer so much.
You would do horrible things; astounding things, but horrible all the same.

I heard of you- of your power.
Power, ensnaring your senses, filling your mind.
I heard of how you never regretted the ways in which you became so great.
You transformed into a cruel, ruthless, beast, capable of acts no other would dare to even think of committing.
I heard you claimed to be so strong, so full of power, that nothing would be the downfall of you.
Yes, you were conceited. You had been drawn so far in, that you actually believed you were invincible.

I see you.
You, with your glinting eyes and dark past. You re falling.
I see your confusion, your outrage. You thought you were strong, you thought you could live forever.
No one has that power.
Power-hungry, for the best part of your life, that was all that you were. You got carried away, too far away-beyond the grasp of sanity.
I see the way you look at me now, astonished that I had somehow managed to get through life. I was weak, I never sought power. I was never drugged by the feeling of total control.
You were.
The illusion you brought upon yourself, this great power, it was the death of you. And even now you refuse to accept it.

You are gone.
Gone, gone from the world. You left with your stubborn beliefs, your horrid pride.
You left me wondering if, after all the wrong you ve done, you still felt defiant during death.
I may always wonder, but one thing I know.

I am strong now.
In faith, in love, in body, mind, character-as a leader of my own life.
You will never realize that I was not weak, but humble.
And because of that, my spirit will live on.
What I am is the closest to your hope of eternal power that any human could achieve.
When I die, my spirit will live on. And yours?
Yours was never even there to be gone.

I remember you.
And I promise, I will try my best to never let there be anyone like you again.
Never again, whispered the wind and the air, as crisp and clear as he who was powerful.