Hero

by Frank Turner

A dark cold sad and frigid place
Lost inside a cities maze
Night forever seeking out a prisoner
Crumbling just like these empty, looming towers
And all that’s potency to death remembered-
Act with sureness and withdraw…
The stranger is eternally threatened-
All the secret warrens hiding in the light
Turn to gaping, toothless hungry maws
And use the darkness to draw home their feast
Still, we swim in possibility, the sea of maybe-
Despite the circling shadows at the edge of sight below…
Lost in a suburban purgatory
A wilderness of social blight and flickering, candlelit pain
The saved are prisoners in the House of Healing
And everything that’s sacred is abandoned in this territory
Only torrid falsehood is respected and
All their masks of deadskin are studded with stolen jewels…
Enter the hero, tiny, disparaged and stultified-
History will paint one more god on the canvas but
Only the strangest ones will know that he suffered
That divinity is not immune to love and death
But is tapped until both have taken their liberating toll…