Poems For Nobody II

He’s back, and this time: he’s going to leave you William Shook-speare.

Nailed it.

Somewhere between the moonlight touching your face
And the sunlight breaking up our party
Is the closest thing to heaven that I’ve known.


They say to never meet your heroes.
What if the people you already know become your heroes?
The friend who endures heartbreak and learns to love again unguarded.
That person becomes a hero.
The boy who becomes a man and learns that being a product of a man does not mean you are destined to end up like him, and changes his ways for the better.
That person becomes a hero.
The parent who works two jobs to give their kids a new bike, and splits their shifts to be able to ride it with them when they get home from school.
That person becomes a hero.
The elderly couple who show love is not found just in grand gestures but in the every day.
They become heroes.
The survivor, who carries on living every damn day.
That person. Hero.
Those who love and live and fall down and get up. Dust themselves off and try.
They become a hero that is better than one in a comic book or a tv screen.
They’re real, and they’re here.
No cape or mask just determination and belief that things will come around.
It’s impossible not to meet your heroes when your heroes keep revealing themselves slowly in front of your eyes.

I do not believe in love at first sight.
It’s never felt right.
But one night or one day
There will be something they do
or say
or a laugh
a look or a smile
that will make you pause for a small while and say
Oh shit. This really is it, isn’t it.

The river is the before.
Calm and still.
Moving forward, steady on.
The fall is the during.
Crashing and thrashing.
Waves engulfing, frantically down.
The river is the after.
Calm and still once more.
Moving forward, steady on.

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