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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #2158662
Define, for me, a hero. You say dauntless, I say dead.
When the leviathan men come
And they will come
only a small margin for heroes is to exist
Might I be
unlucky to find myself there
Bury me in the hills
Had I not been impervious to life
When the skin turns blue
And those honor-plated swords and shields
Are decorated
with the blood of an enemy
What is for heroes is for mistakes

The other side of the road seems far.
The ones who ran sometimes made it
And for the rest bless their souls,
A man
Or something that resembled one
Walked, halfway through
Carried by a sway in his shoulders
And a chin in the heavens
Felt the burn of Hell
A dozen screams
Dozens of dozens
Within seconds, Starved
Heat pulled at his flesh
Oh What a sight to see.
With twisted eyes and a smile on it's face
Into a pool of indifferent heartbeats he went
He dies a hero.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2158662