The Second Hero
Another war has set forth, the army is back,
With double the legion prepared to attack.
Twenty years have passed since the fall of a man,
Known only as "Hero," who gave as much as a man can.
The brothers retreated and went back to their place,
Returning to their wives and restarting their race.
Having sons and daughters, all beautiful sights,
Raising them all with the best freedoms and rights.
And in the center of town stood a large marble cross,
In sacred memory of one particular loss.
It was at this cross, the men always prayed,
As the children surrounding had watched and just played.
The boys made war with sticks and of stones,
Imitating death and the breaking of bones.
While the girls picked flowers and braided their hair,
It was a time of peace that everyone want share.
On Sundays they'd picnic, on the village square,
All the families and friends were always there.
Man, wife, and children would sit by each other,
All but one son and his poor widowed mother.
They were proud of each other, the mother and son,
Being family to the man who had refused to run.
So they sat at the cross, being as neighbors should be,
Cool and collected by what everyone could see.
Then when socializing was over, they would go on their way,
Continue their own matters and proceed with their day.
Only the son would stay back and reflect,
To think of his father, and show his respect.
"I know you're here dad, I can feel your touch,
But it's hard to keep talking when I miss you this much.
You were taken from me when I was only eight!
And now I'm a man, and filled with this hate."
Thus is what he usually said to the stone,
When no one was watching or he thought he was alone.
Then he'd go home and smile, for his mother so dear,
Laugh and make jokes, never showing a tear.
Then on an average morning, a soldier came to the son,
Said that an army was coming, and advised that he run.
The son smiled and stood, looking over his town,
"I am the son of Hero, I will not back down."
The very same evening, the men all collected,
And the men to go off to war were selected.
The numbers were good, but the enemy still more,
It was inevitably going to be a brutal cold war.
The men all scared, now spoke of retreat,
Because no one appeared to have hope of defeat.
Until out of the back came the son with a speech,
Standing under the cross he started to preach.
"My brothers be still, do not be afraid.
For this is the day in which heroes are made!
We now fight for honor, and we fight for our land,
The devil will be stricken by the sword in your hand!"
At first there was silence, and challenging glances,
It was clear that they did not believe in the chances.
Now among the men there was whispers of doubt,
So the son let out with one final shout...
"Then remember your wives, you insolent scum!
Let's test their mercy when you let the enemy come!
Lets throw away freedom because you were scared,
And let's welcome the enemy even though were prepared!
Otherwise think of your children, and the future they hold,
It depends on us on how they will grow old.
Think of any but yourself, and you will find your strength,
You'll fight to the end, regardless of length.
Remember my father, who saved some of your lives,
After he gave up his own so you could return to your wives.
My father was selfless, for a greater tomorrow,
But he did not intend to produce any sorrow.
So take up your blades, we'll meet them head first!
They can drown in their own blood to quench their blood thirst!
Take up your swords, wake up as heroes at morn!
Let them taste our steel, and feel all of our scorn!"
With double the legion prepared to attack.
Twenty years have passed since the fall of a man,
Known only as "Hero," who gave as much as a man can.
The brothers retreated and went back to their place,
Returning to their wives and restarting their race.
Having sons and daughters, all beautiful sights,
Raising them all with the best freedoms and rights.
And in the center of town stood a large marble cross,
In sacred memory of one particular loss.
It was at this cross, the men always prayed,
As the children surrounding had watched and just played.
The boys made war with sticks and of stones,
Imitating death and the breaking of bones.
While the girls picked flowers and braided their hair,
It was a time of peace that everyone want share.
On Sundays they'd picnic, on the village square,
All the families and friends were always there.
Man, wife, and children would sit by each other,
All but one son and his poor widowed mother.
They were proud of each other, the mother and son,
Being family to the man who had refused to run.
So they sat at the cross, being as neighbors should be,
Cool and collected by what everyone could see.
Then when socializing was over, they would go on their way,
Continue their own matters and proceed with their day.
Only the son would stay back and reflect,
To think of his father, and show his respect.
"I know you're here dad, I can feel your touch,
But it's hard to keep talking when I miss you this much.
You were taken from me when I was only eight!
And now I'm a man, and filled with this hate."
Thus is what he usually said to the stone,
When no one was watching or he thought he was alone.
Then he'd go home and smile, for his mother so dear,
Laugh and make jokes, never showing a tear.
Then on an average morning, a soldier came to the son,
Said that an army was coming, and advised that he run.
The son smiled and stood, looking over his town,
"I am the son of Hero, I will not back down."
The very same evening, the men all collected,
And the men to go off to war were selected.
The numbers were good, but the enemy still more,
It was inevitably going to be a brutal cold war.
The men all scared, now spoke of retreat,
Because no one appeared to have hope of defeat.
Until out of the back came the son with a speech,
Standing under the cross he started to preach.
"My brothers be still, do not be afraid.
For this is the day in which heroes are made!
We now fight for honor, and we fight for our land,
The devil will be stricken by the sword in your hand!"
At first there was silence, and challenging glances,
It was clear that they did not believe in the chances.
Now among the men there was whispers of doubt,
So the son let out with one final shout...
"Then remember your wives, you insolent scum!
Let's test their mercy when you let the enemy come!
Lets throw away freedom because you were scared,
And let's welcome the enemy even though were prepared!
Otherwise think of your children, and the future they hold,
It depends on us on how they will grow old.
Think of any but yourself, and you will find your strength,
You'll fight to the end, regardless of length.
Remember my father, who saved some of your lives,
After he gave up his own so you could return to your wives.
My father was selfless, for a greater tomorrow,
But he did not intend to produce any sorrow.
So take up your blades, we'll meet them head first!
They can drown in their own blood to quench their blood thirst!
Take up your swords, wake up as heroes at morn!
Let them taste our steel, and feel all of our scorn!"