Heroic Man

by T. F. Prince

I wear this mask to hide my face
more from myself than you.
I know there's trouble all around
but nothing I can do.
I'm not strong enough to save you
or brave enough to standbeside you as you face your devils
I am not an heroic man.

We all seek inspiration,
a reason to go on.
We need someone to look up to,
to teach us right from wrong.
I'm not a person to be praised
upon a shining, glorious stand.
There is no way I can help you.
I am not an heroic man.

I'm standing on the bridge of time
on the edge of now and then.
I see the water rush below,
hear it calling me to swim.
The winds of change are blowing hard
I'm wondering why I stay
when holding on takes so much strength
and how easy to drift away.

I look at those around,
eyes dead and dull and empty.
They have given up hope and love
and accept things as they be.
Who am I to argue,
to tell them they are wrong?
And who among them is worth saving
if they so meekly go along?

It would suit me best to wait,
watching from afar,
for someone else to come along
and solve these things that harm.
Someone else to solve these problems,
someone else to take a stand.
Someone else more fit and able
to be an heroic man.

And now I find that I'm no better,
looking backwards at my life,
than all the empty, hollow cowards
with whom I shared my plight.
I gave up instead of stand,
chose to run instead of fight.
I failed at every opportunity
to do the thing that was right.

You held strong against the darkness.
I made you do it on your own.
You reached for me and asked for help;
I left you there. Alone.
If I could take it back from time
and do it all again,
I would do no better,
be no stronger than I am.

The darkness is surrounding,
blocking out the light.
I am not a splendid beacon
gleaming in the night.
At times it takes all that I have
to stand up off the ground.
What kind of man could I claim to be
if my hand would let you down?
I cannot hold you high enough
where you deserve to be.
For I am not an heroic man;

I am only me.

DUSTIN WHITE lives in Eugene (you-gene), Oregon (or-gun). He was not clever enough to come up with a catchy pen name, and he is too introverted to go into too much detail in his bio. He writes for fun and mostly adheres to the "monkeys with typewriters" approach to create works of any quality; yes, mostly a man of quantity.