When we were children
we all knew what we wanted to be.
We wanted to follow
in the footstep of our favourite hero.
Our heroes came from noble stock
and stood above the rest.
We wanted to grow up like them
walking tall through the world.
At a certain age reality kicks in
and we become who we are.
It is a lot different than
those heroes we used to adore.
We learn that heroes
are not such a special breed.
We pass hundreds of them everyday
and we fail to recognise them.
They have no super powers
or logos on their chest.
They dress like you and me
in tee-shirt and jeans
and when the chips are down.
A stranger will save the day
and then when everything has died down
the stranger will be on their way.
21 September 2010
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Comments about this poem (Heroes 2 by David Harris )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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