About A Hero

‘Neath skies that hold what a sky does hold,

City-shaped cityscapes on plain sand.

Steps left unstepped, no need for that when—

Surely the next will take the stand.

An eternal quiet before the charge,

Signal left to an empty hand.

And in this world of ever-held breath,

You’ll wait with me on the shapeless land,

And talk to me about a hero.

The first great rise while the others crouch,

Screaming over the ones who yield.

Those left behind are left condemned,

Words giving form the enlighteneds' shield.

As they learn to tell a right from wrong,

But never mind whose right they wield.

In this world of savages and saints,

You'll sit with me on the fresh-sown field,

And talk to me about a hero.

The stronger come, as there always are,

Bring too much red to be washed by rain.

The innocents wail and cry lament:

All who rise already feared to be slain.

Ambition be cradled dear, divine,

While its real meaning ‘comes that of pain.

And in this world of martyrs and grief,

You'll stand with me on the blood-strewn plain,

And talk to me about a hero.

In all endings the last must also fall,

Chaos—the one immortal bite.

Wisdom and reason splinter as clean—

As bridge and path, in the tangled fight,

Only doubt remains of questions asked,

Answers futile in the fading light.

And in this world of confused tomorrow,

You'll lie with me under the blackest night,

And talk to me about a hero.

But the turning storm shall come back ‘round,

Threads find each other once more, akin.

And if one day hence, the searching turns

—from with-out, let it look within.

Cease awaiting the hero elsewhere,

And we will never need one again.

In this world of ev’ry simple life,

Walk with me amongst us all, and begin:

Talk to me about you.