didn't happen that way.
All my heroes and heroines,
apart from the flames that burned within,
placed there by forces completely beyond their control,
bore those flames in vessels
much like my own or truth be told-
a lot worse.
Were I to live a lot longer,
how much of what I once sawas beautiful or noble or enviable
would remain
to comfort and inspire me?
Just the pastel clouds hanging high
in blue or gray skies too high to touch,just the gelatinous waters
always beyond quenching
my merely human thirst
keep their power to move me.
Like Cyclops poking a finger into
the cave, the name of the hero I seek echoes out, "Noman!"
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