Death Came To Call by Mike Williams 03/19/2016 @ 2:10 A.M.

A hero's moon is rising, 
As the night begins to fall. 
Pale as my pulse weakens, 
Soon I must answer death's call. 

Hero's are but made in the mind, 
For they too are fragile men. 
We think about their bravery, 
Their struggle until the bitter end. 

I wonder what those heroes thought, 
For none know how they truly felt. 
We've built them up high in epics, 
Uncertain about the hand they're delt. 

I am no romantic tragic hero, 
But I have long waged the fight. 
To struggle in an uphill battle, 
To live with all of my might. 

I've clung to hope eternal, 
Vowing to not give at the last. 
But choices are only reactions, 
As the heroes of ancient past. 

I had hoped for a grand life, 
A great story left behind to tell. 
A scene of an epical battle won, 
And a hero's journey as well. 

I longed for a dramatic end, 
Something worthy of the cause. 
Noble minded until the finish, 
And death to the crowds applause. 

It all seemed so virtuous, 
Though I've known not of life's ease. 
I never imagined my demise, 
Would wrestle with such disease. 

We talk of beautiful endings, 
We rise, we soar, and die. 
The moon waxed o'er yellow, 
And in the end so did I.