The sunset strikes me
like a match.
My heart is on fire.
Dark abyss blankets the sky
and rain crashes upon my helm.
The blackened air is interrupted
as the lights break through
and the impending battle ensues.
My hunger rivals that of a Viking,
but a Nordic knight
likely doesn't whisper Springsteen
as he describes what's in the air tonight.
I fight for this feeling.
The feeling of fiery intensity
in frigid conditions.
Size is barely a perception.
One is only as big
as his finishing blow.
I fight for the idea
that fatalities form stars,
but heroes produce more than triumph.
I fight for shabooyas on the bus.
Michael Jordan rides the bus.
What a hero.