Who Are the Heroes?

This is an old post from four years ago, but a fellow blogger featured it this week, so I thought I’d re-post it. In the original post I said, “I can hardly watch TV these days; it reminds me too much of the real world, and it appears to me this world has gone to hell. I find myself looking around and wondering; where have all the heroes gone?” As I re-read this, the thought occurred to me; who are the heroes of the younger generation today?

They rode horses, wore white hats

Fought for what they believed was right

And ran the bad guys out of town

They looked out for their neighbors

Those who couldn’t defend themselves

 the Lone Ranger quoteWhen I was six, I was the Lone Ranger

And at the same time Superman

Ever ready to stand against anyone or anything

That dared to come against

Truth, justice, and the American way

 

When I was eight, I was Paladin

A black hat this time, and more rugged

But a hero still, who righted wrongs

And would go anywhere

To correct injustice and defend the defenseless

 

When I was ten, I was John Wayne

I learned to walk like him

Tried to make my voice deep like his

And hoped I’d grow to be tall, broad shouldered and brave

But mostly, I wanted to be a good man

A superb man, a combination of all of them

Those heroes who cared little for themselves

But lived for what they could do for others

 

Yes, it was just television

And all my heroes were make-believe

But they made me believe and they taught me

About right and wrong, and so many things

 

Where have all the heroes gone?

Who do we turn to now?

What is truth, or justice?

And, what is the American way?

 

My heroes stood proud and tall

Hands on their hips, ready to fight

For a way of life and a country they loved

Even though it was flawed in so many ways

 

I love my country

 

But it is a love like one has for a dying loved one

And I watch her now, slumbering in drugged apathy

Gurgling immorality, indecency, and corruption

Like a death rattle in cancer-ridden lungs

 

Atop her aged trembling hand, I place my own

And I ache within, realizing even should she survive

A mere shadowy skeleton of what she once was

Is all that will remain

 

I think back on those days of yesteryear

Days when this country stood strong and proud

And I see her slowly succumbing to darkness

With no heroes to swoop to her rescue

 

I stare at the floor… and silently, I weep

 

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

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