You are the hero,
A heart born to live,
A mind willing to thrive,
A body bound to die.
History does not remember lives that are willing.
You are the lover,
A soul searching to love,
A body left to lust,
A story ending in nothing.
Ballads are not sung to hearts that grow cold.
You are but man,
An infant coming to youth,
A youth desiring to age,
A sorrow to grow old.
Beauty has no place for those who are told.
You are no god,
A sight for the unseen,
An awe for the unknown,
A reach to not hold.
Religion does not embody those who are broken.
Isaac Olajos
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