My Hero Looks Like This

You say this isn't what a hero looks like

You say he's too small and skinny

You say his face is too haggard

I say you have no idea what a hero actually is

When you are only judging

The book by its cover

His bravery in the face of unfathomable horror astounds me

He never complained when he discovered that he would lose himself

He only seemed to think of how others would be affected

I never realized how weary he looked until recently

How exhausting it must have been to try and remember

More and more each day, as more of himself was lost

It was said that he never knew where he was during his last tour

And now he remembers none of that at all

He is now weak and frail and all but lost, but he is still a hero to me

I have never seen anyone face such a terrible diagnosis

With such courage and dignity

Heroes don't always come in the form of a chiseled Adonis with flowing golden locks and perfect teeth

Sometimes heroes are fragile, elfin creatures

Who boldly face any challenger

Including the one they know will destroy them utterly

Without complaint or thought for themselves

This tiny, haggard man is my hero

And always will be

I hope I will meet him on the other side

So I can thank him for being just what he was

Love,

Cie

Prompt used:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

NaPoWriMo 2015: Day 26: Not Easy To Forget

Photoshop by The Real Cie

Not Easy To Forget

I've caused a lot more trouble than I ever intended to

There has been too much grief

Over a simple man whose cognition has gone south

Weeping and mourning do no good

Stop

Go on with your life

I tried not to cause trouble

Tried to pretend everything was all right

I'm like a dying sun setting on a doomed world

I'm sorry for those I let down

I've forgotten everything and everyone

I've forgotten myself

In the scheme of things, I don't matter very much

I don't want to cause any trouble

But at the same time

Everyone wants to matter just a little

Perhaps keep a little bit of me somewhere in your mind

With love From Sally

Notes:

The subject of the poem is a person whose cognition is being eroded by a disease which is literally destroying the structure of his brain.

He was a modest person who didn't like a lot of fuss made over him.

He tried to make out like things were all right during the period of time when he was still functional. He truly didn't want to concern others with his problems.

He is beautiful and brave, and even if he thought that such a humble creature is easily forgotten, he will be remembered as long as the members of Team Netherworld are alive, and, I believe, longer still than that by far.

Bless you, sweet angel.

Prompt:

And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). Our last two prompts have been squarely in the silly zone – this one should give some scope to both the serious-minded and the silly among you. Today, I challenge you to write a persona poem – a poem in the voice of someone else. Your persona could be a mythological or fictional character, a historical figure, or even an inanimate object. Need some examples? Check out this persona-poem-themed issue of Poemeleon from a few years back.

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 26

Image Source

Hitchcock was indeed a master

I also loved his dry sense of humor on the Alfred Hitchcock Presents program

A trivia niblet:

Bill Mumy once spoke about working with both Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Serling. He said that Rod Serling was just the sweetest guy, so easy to get along with. If anyone messed up a line, he'd say "hey, that's all right, let's try it again."

Hitchcock, conversely, said:

"Little boy, if you mess up that line again, I'll eat you."

Just a little fun, remembering a talented curmudgeon who was one of my heroes of the film world. They don't make 'em like him any more!

Driving Force

For Spectra Ghostseeker

Sometimes the drive I feel to enter our secret universe 

And tell the tales that creep and crawl and dance and sway from synapse to synapse 

Is nothing short of frightening

It makes me wonder if perhaps I'm truly mad

In the darkness of my mind, spooky images delight

Where this compulsion to dream darkly comes from is mysterious

Why have I always sought the shadow?

Why have I never desired to dance in the light?

A clock striking midnight sets my heart to pounding

I tear out my heart and throw it upon my keyboard with a thud

I pour out my life's blood in these tales that I craft

Indeed, they may be nonsense to the outside observer peering in the window of my mind

But they mean the world to me

~Dolly~

Word Prompts: 

                                     Frightening

                                     Darkness

                                     Spooky

                                     Mysterious

                                     Thud

                                     Striking

                                     Midnight

                                     Pounding