by Nick Gisburne
I’m not the kind of hero you perceive.
My costume, and my character, are weak.
I see you, waiting, weeping, and I grieve.
I cannot be the superman you seek.
My powers are synthetic, not divine:
Diseases, drugs, impossible to tame.
These burdens do not make your problems mine.
I watch, but have no wager on the game.
Invincible, because I never fight.
The undefeated champion of... what?
Extreme avenger? Guardian of light?
Whatever you expected, I am not.
You fail, and fall, and always turn to me.
Is this the way the world will always be?
