Creation: A Scifi-LitRPG Worldbuilding Story

So I’m stranded.

Maybe I’ll find my way out of here, or maybe I’ll “make a world” like Mr. Harrison says.

I don’t know.

The idea of hope has always bothered me. I ended my last page with it, so maybe I’ll focus on it in this one.

Poetry helps. I’ve always found poetry to reach the soul better than any other medium, with the exception of music.

Of course, music is just poetry put into a different form, but that’s the English teacher in me talking.

Here’s the poem:

Hope is a feckless bully
When you think you’ve lost it all, he appears
He drives you in the morning, keeps your eyes open when you should sleep
He forces you to carry him, always trying to share that burden with others
He’s a monster of unimaginable force, a dictator of your soul
He only fades and disappears when you forget him
Only Reappearing when another soul feels his brush

Not my best or my worst. I’ll take it.

Maybe I can survive this place. 

But even if I do, I have to ask, where did he go? What is he? 

Questions I hope I'll have answers to one day.