Why does a hero die?
Why do the spineless survive?
Why isn’t there a true sunset ride?
Why is it that happy endings, are end of stories…
…But not the end of life?
He was the bravest and noblest of all
He raised a million hopes and helped many
Hero was he, destined for victory
Broken and battered when all was lost
He stood up against tyranny
He stood up for the helpless lot
and so did thoughts
On battlefields and in minds,
a war was fought
They saw him as their Saviour,
They saw him as a hero,
They saw him as God
But when it was all done and dusted
He sat on a lonely rock
Looking at what they had achieved,
looking at what he had lost
And there with sun on his back,
he saw their worthless kind
Gloating over his victory,
faking to growing a spine
He realised the futility of his battle
For the ones who could only hide
He knew they were doomed
The day he would no longer be alive.
They would fight and bicker,
questioning the legacy he left behind
And if he were to be alive
they would question his victories,
wondering if he had a hidden agenda in mind.
That is where he realised
he had no choice,
he had to leave,
he had to die.
A hero he was born.
But such was mankind,
that it would be hate,
that would forever survive.