A Hero’s Arrival
Pit me as having made landfall
Upon ground that isn’t mine.
I don’t feel at home, don’t get it
Heroes don’t fight with weapons or words.
It’s like a flower, splitting the soil,
Like a turtle, leaving it’s shell
It comes through and exists plainly
Because that’s what it was supposed to be.
But now, now that we need blossoms,
Heroes are stifled, have to create anew
Because rationalism will tell them they’re limited
There are limits to life and heroes sense them too.
Comic books can’t be their reality—
Not the true heroes of this world.
Heroes love with a patch of dirt
Crusted to their shoulders like dried syrup.
And the love falls off as they stretch their skin
And we feel it because we were waiting
Waiting to feel that very dirt—
Just dirt, but refreshing because it’s everyone’s.
But the heroes can never stand out through set routes,
Can never show the world their love
Using means of doing so that already exist;
Not exactly anyway—they have to bring something,
Something like a frozen stone,
Bring it and then show the world that a fire can be put out
With nothing but a rock.
Seeds have sprouted
And I hope there’s nothing in the way.