My hero is that nameless student
Who helps another pick up their books
When that other drops them,
Unafraid of being late,
Only of a troubled conscience.
My hero is the immigrant
Who came to America in search of dreams
And found them inside of himself
And is never afraid
Of trying again.
My heroes are all the photographers in the world
Who risk their lives for the last picture,
The missing bit of visual beauty,
Just to make the story complete.
My hero is the student that is brave enough
To tell the truth.
The student that is frank and hones
And never shies away from the hard situation
And accepts people for who they are.
My hero is Beethoven
Who was inspired by the music of his dreams
And waltzed his notes across the music sheets
Even as his hearing disintegrated
Even as his mortality came to an end
My hero is Martin Luther King Jr.
Whose voice was as powerful as his beliefs
Who kept his head up high
Trusting in justice, even as he died.
My hero is Darwin
Who, against the crush of popular belief, announced his idea
And, unapologetic, spat in the faces of skeptics
Who lurks in some dusty church, reciting his doctrine
"Unyielding, unyielding, unyielding."
My hero is the poet
Who scribbles away his life under the guide of inspiration
Who climbs into himself to find the truth of his words
Whose words linger in the smoke of the air,
Taking flight with the fancy of imagination.
A/N: An unusually personal poem for me. Reviews please?