Heroes Poem by Niko Tiliopoulos

When you were young, the world was infinite,
a great unknown of random possibilities,
boundless potentials of impossible dreams,
dreaming of love and hope in endless probabilities,
improbable love and impossible hope were your prize,
and your heroes were wise.

But then you grew tall in a world that grew short,
shorter than small and smaller than known,
in finite knowledge of real certainties,
certain realities and limited understandings,
defined by limits and stories all told,
and your heroes were old.

So now the world is you, and you are the world,
you shape it as you wish in forms and shapes,
with purposeful creations you create your purpose,
generating knowledge for your generation,
now you know as you always look ahead,
and your heroes are all dead.