I root for the little hero
Holding up his little sword,
With his uneasy delusions of independence,
And his self-conscious need for approval.
I cheer him on
In his struggle to wriggle free
Of the truth-bondage of his blank destiny;
And cheat himself of the blissful peace
Of acquiescence in the inevitability of his irrelevance.
I put my bottom dollar down
On his ridiculous, fictional narrative
Of glorious exploits, and wonderful conquests,
Of honor, and justice, and redress of wrongs,
And triumphant, eternal love.
Time is my gigantic enemy as much as his
And we are both fated, ultimately, to fail;
Our puny echoes lost in the endless, crashing waves
Of cosmic noise.
We will at least fail together, as brothers.