Everything my friends have fought for has been ground into particles finer than the sand of the desert I grew up in. It is my fault. My failure to live up to the promise others saw in me has damaged families and damned galaxies. I have renounced the sky; it was hubris to think I belonged anywhere but on the ground, extraordinary only because of the things I've broken. But if the dry husk that remains of me can be useful as kindling to create a fire others can warm their dying hopes by, I will give it up and try to be the hero children need me to be.
New hope crushed by old
resentments that did not die.
Failure defines me
only if I do not rise
one last time for tomorrow.
Song Choice:
Hurt by Johnny Cash
This tanka prose poem was created by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads:
If You Meet The Hero On The Road... where we were asked to write about a hero. I chose to base this tanka prose around Luke Skywalker from the Star Wars movies. This piece will also be linked to Poets United:
Poetry Pantry 404.
