The Chronicles of the Chosen One

In a realm where prophecies were commonplace,
And chosen ones were a dime a dozen, without grace,
There lived a hero, reluctant and wry,
Who wanted nothing more than to let fate pass by.

His name was Garth, a simple gardener by trade,
Content with his plants, and the life he had made.
But one fateful day, a wizard appeared,
With a prophecy so grand, it was almost absurd.

“Hark, Garth!” the wizard declared with a flourish,
“You are the Chosen One, destined to nourish
The world with your deeds, and vanquish the dark,
For an ancient evil, is about to embark!”

Garth looked up from his tomatoes, a frown on his face,
“But I’m just a gardener, not a hero with grace.
Can’t you find someone else, to save the day?
I’ve got plants to tend, and soil to survey.”

But the wizard was adamant, his eyes so bright,
“Nay, Garth! The prophecy is clear, you must fight!
For you are the one, the hero foretold,
Now pack your bags, and let your story unfold!”

With a heavy sigh, Garth put down his hoe,
And reluctantly set off, his progress slow.
For he did not rush, to meet his fate,
After all, prophecies could always wait.

As he journeyed on, through forests and hills,
He encountered many a creature, with curious skills.
A talking tree, a singing brook,
And a wise old owl, with a cryptic look.

Each one had advice, for the Chosen One,
On how to save the world, and get the job done.
But Garth just shook his head, and muttered with snark,
“Why can’t the world, just save itself for a lark?”

And still he pressed on, though his heart wasn’t in it,
For the logic of fate, just didn’t seem fit.
Why him of all people, a simple gardener,
To fight an evil, that seemed to have no parameter?

Along the way, he met other chosen ones,
Each with a prophecy, and deeds to be done.
There was Brenda the Brave, and Trevor the True,
And a host of others, with destinies too.

But Garth just rolled his eyes, at their grand designs,
“Don’t you see?” he said, “These prophecies are just lines,
Designed to make us feel special, and grant us a role,
While the real world crumbles, out of control.”

But still, the prophecy tugged, at his garden-worn soul,
And he found himself, at the dark lord’s threshold.
A looming castle, with shadows so deep,
And an evil presence, that made his skin creep.

“Ah, the Chosen One!” the dark lord bellowed with glee,
“I’ve been expecting you, as foretold to me!
Now let us battle, as fate has decreed,
And see whose destiny, will finally succeed!”

But Garth, he just stood there, a twinkle in his eye,
“You know what?” he said, “I think I’ll just pass by.
For I’ve got a garden, that needs my care,
And I’d rather be there, than in this gloomy lair.”

The dark lord, surprised, let out a roar,
“But you’re the Chosen One! You can’t just ignore
Your destiny, your fate, your heroic call!”
But Garth, he just smiled, standing tall.

“Chosen One or not,” he said with a grin,
“I choose my own path, and it doesn’t begin
With fighting some dark lord, or saving a world,
That’s just not my style, when all is unfurled.”

And with that, Garth turned, and walked away,
Leaving the dark lord, to sputter and sway.
And as he journeyed home, to his garden so green,
He couldn’t help but laugh, at the absurdity he’d seen.

For in a world, where prophecies reigned supreme,
And chosen ones were expected, to live out a dream,
Garth had chosen, his own way to walk,
And left fate and destiny, to their own silly talk.

And as he tended his plants, with love and with care,
He knew that his choice, had been true and fair.
For a life well-lived, with purpose and joy,
Was better by far, than a prophecy’s ploy.

So if you find yourself, a Chosen One too,
Remember Garth’s tale, and to thine own self be true.
For destiny and fate, they may have their say,
But in the end, it’s your choices, that light your way!