I'm so tired of seeing my heroes fall
of scaling unsurmountable isms - as a seek
for impossible heights - as a cornerstone
to my own frailty - how dare I

to imply a zenith on anyone else
but me - to live out my climb
on the failure of others - I'm so tired

of all my heroes
realizing me into this fantasy of none
I'm not even watching anymore

the last hold on that branch
prevents the fall
until help comes but you know
a handshake is a distant come-on
for a fancy champion
who fancies himself into angular jazzbone

until fossilized
by his own sifting recognition
liar sandstone grips the fall

flatly saved against cerulean's handsome loneliness
he is pretty in his climb
a ladder in his prime

liar redstone
lives the day aghast
until the whattaya-say...will you retrieve me
will I never see
will it all be hero-reason against
rightstone rimshot

I'm so tired of these realizations that prove
just how right I am
I'd like to be wrong once - really I would

I'd like to confront my reason
with microscopic serenity
rising south by this nuthouse gaze

but heroes will do that to you
heroes give you reason, to question
resolve, to wonder
how you ripped yourself so open
to once believe in something
besides yourself

Edwin Torres Author Page

Pub. May 2000