I’ve lived within fantasy 15 years and tousled with fate a lifetime;
within this dream stories have told that really only pertain one thought
in my time
heroes have made the front page; gouged out of reality, they astound the souls of their age.
Our scholars praise Achilles with his sword and heel, Hector, the man of virtue; Einstein, Jason, Gandhi and Hercule:
Now Poirot
is well known, better known than the actor who played him
and only Norris, Chuck Norris has his own name ascribed
on the facebook walls.
Scrawled as means of entertainment but never pushed to the side.
I’ve noticed that heroes are more inspiring than immortals,
groups of vampires don't mediate our lives as much as Cheryl or Jackson or F-Scott Fitz-Gell
and we see less of them, sleeping as well
with these stars on our minds.
They’ll reap their legacies although they will die,
but thats just the way that life betides.
Now Gatsby has shown me, as only FitzGerald can tell
that the moon behind the clouds shines bright or just as well,
sheds just enough light to make a grey area grey
and when the gloom fades and the sun rises, takes it all away.
Yes, we’ll jump high as a race, so high we’ll inspire you,
we will wear the bright hat and treat the redness as fireproof
but let the chips drop, as by the end they will.
If you allow that glorious day to wash over the night will stand still.
Heroes are made by years with scorching days and moonlit summers.
Time has told me "you need to live while you’re ahead, in-case you’re caught dawdling in your bed."
See- Legends take fruition at birth but continue to bloom when life gives you back to the earth…
