Not Another Hero

How many heroes dye their hair

with the blood of the villains who wound them?

And how many heroes brush their teeth

with the spit in the faces of problems?

The world doesn’t need another hero.

Another vigilante whose eyes we can’t see

through a mask of defiance.

Another supposed alliance

where actions speak louder

than the glacé words gliding off tongues

that land in the silence of broken promises.

Another gallant facade,

another painted promenade

drenched in self-righteous red.

Another improvised stage,

proclamation of sanctimonious rage.

No, the world doesn’t need more hate,

no matter if it feels well-placed.


How many heroes thrive on hatred,

take lives for a living in the glorified name of justice?

And how many heroes fight fire with fire

then watch the forest burn?

Spend lives like dollar bills

with numbers as values stamped on faces.

Rescue 100 and raise to the clouds

but tear 1 to tatters and toss to the ground.

Deal justice for flaws

by those who are flawed;

just pass the fireball

till it burns too hot.


How many heroes say “I’m sorry?”

and rarer,

how many heroes hear “I’m sorry,”

and dare,

“I forgive you?”

Because, of course, grace is weakness,

and mercy taboo.


The world doesn’t need another hero.

Doesn’t need more condemnation,

more violence,

more bloodshed,

more screaming,

more so-called justice.

The world doesn’t need more hate.

The world needs more than its shattered state.


How many heroes will deepen ravines

but how many healers fill them in?

How many heroes kill off the criminals

but how many healers put life above all?

The world doesn’t need another hero.

Doesn’t need to watch planes whoosh by, adorned by

confetti and streamers and grandiose gleams.

Doesn’t need to see heroes raised high, adored by

the masses who fall for their schemes.

Heroes glitter, they shimmer, they puff up with pomp

but down in the streets

there’s a silhouette cloaked in a brown burlap cape.

The thirsty hold cups,

the down stumble up,

and the healer is humble in the hero’s wake.


How many healers dye their hair

with dirt cleaned from the soles of the poorest?

And how many healers brush their teeth

with the dew of a flourishing forest?

The world needs another healer.

A healer to see the way we should be

with burdens eased and chains released.

Another hand to the needy,

a meal to the hungry.

The world needs another healer of wounds.

Another sealer of cracks,

another bridger of gaps.

Yes, the world needs another healer.


How much of the world distorts in dystopia?

See fragments of utopia,

see them shattered and scattered through space.

See the dents and the holes,

broken hearts, broken souls.

Weep for the world; it is broken.

This broken world doesn’t need another broken hero with a broken sense of human justice.

This broken world can’t take another break.


This broken world needs a healer.