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Does a sword make a hero. Do deeds, or words, or people he will save. Nay, a heart makes a hero, A heart that's truly brave. Does a shield make a hero. That blocks fire, or ice, or storm.
#bestofopuss Not my best, but my favorite. Every year Since the age of twelve Steven had done something on his birthday for his late parents.
He lifts the flag above his head With bloodstained fist, and bloodstained brow The gunshots resound And out the window his lifeless corpse leans.
Kisses and raindrops Fall against my face as I lay on the ground with no audible sound My body feels broken as I lay here soaking The warmth of kisses clashes with splashes or water as kisses land...
Miracle man, With a master plan. An aim to live, To help, to give. Wonder maker, Nightmare taker. The one all love, Sent from above. Helping hand, Two feet to stand.
She was a girl who had an aim. She was a girl who didn't have a name. She was a girl who wanted to fight. She was a girl with lots of might. She was a girl who was in the army.
I don't recall my death, just remember the screams, dodging gunfire for real, not in heroic dreams. I hope they remember me, I did what I thought was right, It was on their behalf I took up this...
There are many Heroes A hero, Hero is such a strong word A hero is such a rare thing In the realms of fairytales many heroes have walked the earth.
Heroes and fools are separated by a very fine line. Courage and folly are required, when in action combine. A split second to make a choice that may echo through a lifetime.
Doctor who. A question that seems to be repeated all through time and space, People seem to always question his name, Doctor Who. Doctor What. No, it's just The Doctor.
Small but already steadfast, Sword and shield in your grasp, Helmet and breastplate of brass, A hero, we foresee down your path.
I blink, and I'm awake, My senses coming to, Smoke fills my lungs, I check the house There's naught that I can do I wake my mother and father Stir my sister and brother Tell them there's a fire,...
@crowncottage for Tom This was written for St nazaire 60th anniversary of the British commando raids which was probably one of the bravest actions of WWII.
An artist is the magician put among men to gratify — capriciously — their urge for immortality.
Thick black smoke covers your pathway, the building is unstable collapsing around you. Taking each step carefully listening for sounds, whilst the bright orange flames rage its war against you.
When she arrived at the first house she hopped down and ran into the center of the massacre. The raiders had injured countless people and burnt up countless buildings.
We are in the business Of saving human life We offer a glimmer of hope Amidst the chaos and strife We do carry weapons But that's not the message we send We carry them for protection For those who...
No superpowers does he possess, He's just Average Joe, I will confess. No superhero costume, or laser from eye, He ain't immortal, he can die.
Every year Since the age of twelve Steven had done something on his birthday for his late parents. At thirteen he completed his first marathon, aged fourteen he completed his first parachute jump.
Only a hero could save the day. And convince the world "crime does not pay!" For he is the one to lead the fight. And show us all wrong from right. To lead us towards our promised land.
There's a whirlwind in my soul, Fire burning in my eyes. I run straight into danger, When I hear the children's cries. Head to head with a tornado and never backing down.
The old mans eyes where worn, his gray hair was a frizzy mess atop his head. As he walked through the streets of Cricket Creek many people laughed because of the way he looked, walked and smelt.