We talk too much of heroes.
Their creators waste their complexity
On noble or not so noble deaths
And take our devotion
To their inspired creation
amd throw it down to depths-
Along with he we adore.
We talk no more of heroes
How his youth was bathed in
Conflict and sunlight
How these glories ended in
A tale out of the legends
Of betrayal and long suffering
And eventual triumph
(though not without loss
of some senses which made us
love him all the more).
Who's last year with us
Was full of revelation and discovery
As well as new evidence
That he is worthy of our feelings
(though we doubted not before)
We think always of our hero
The dark star who shined in corners
Seemingly without end...
We dared to dream of great things ahead
Of a morning about to rise...
But our happiness meant naught to them
Our hopes put in ill store.
We weep too much for Hero
And still not near enough
For the sensless way
He met an end
For the last year of his life.
We walk like ghosts and whisper
We cry, we write, we sing
We dedicate our poems
We share our memories
None of this does any good
None of it makes sense
We sink inside and long for him
And think too much again.
9/6/03