Fire lights the sky,
messages in flame
and human remains.
Blown out store fronts,
and the anguish writ
large on their faces.

"Who among you will save us?"

Hero is a broken word,
weighed down by the too tall
myth of song lyrics and
epic yarns.
There won't be a signal,
reaching toward the stars.
But attend this quiet vigil,
and weep for us all.

You don't brave fires,
or tough stinging barbs.
You don't fight hunger,
or exhaustion, or flesh wounds.
You smile, when it's called for,
you go a little out of your way.

No one is coming to save you.
There is no help on the way.
But be brave, my friend, because
the story isn't over.
When we die, we just become more odd.