I’ve always dreamt of being a hero
Doing things nobody else would dare.
Alone in my room, I would sit
And in my mind, the fantasy was clear
Governments paying me with gold,
People chanting my name in one voice.

And in the crowd I would hear the voice
Of the beautiful maid in love with this Hero
Her emerald eyes and hair of gold
“Kiss him! Touch him!” her friends would dare
To me, it would be clear
Deep in our heart, our love would sit

But alone in my room, I still sat
The only sound was my own voice
Fantasy would fade and reality would become clear
I’ll never be that Hero
Only in my mind would I dare
I would never strike gold.

I dreamt of jewelry made of gold
And people to serve me where I sit
Let me dream, if I dare
Of the soft lilting voice
The woman who calls me Hero
The love in her eyes is clear

I grew up and my vision cleared
And I no longer dreamt of gold
I didn’t want to be that hero
That I invented as a child when I sat
Fantasy shattered the first time I heard that voice
Gasping for air as her little lungs would dare

To be a father, I did dare
My purpose in life is clear
I now sing lullabies in a soft voice
And brush her hair of gold
And in my lap she sits
As I read stories about heroes

And she dared to wrap my heart in gold
Her eyes, once clear, droops as she falls asleep where we sit
She smiles and in her small voice says, “Daddy, you’re my hero.”

Early in the evening, alone I sit
At the bar, wallet full and mind clear.
I order a shot of Cuervo Gold
As does a lady with a velvet voice
At the end of the bar, looking for a hero
For tonight. I ask myself: do I dare?

I down my shot of liquid courage and dare
To approach her. I smoothly ask to sit
Next to her, when in walks her hero -
A hulking brute who makes it clear,
With his meaty fists and gravelly voice,
That he intends to knock out my fillings of gold.

I return to my stool as the tavern becomes bathed in gold
From the nearby streetlight. I drink more than I normally dare,
But it’s hard to ignore the sound of loneliness: a voice
Telling me to drink myself numb. So I sit
At the bar and order shots of vodka, the clear
Liquid warming my belly. Stolichnaya, you are my hero.

The night wears on, and I find a new hero:
A blend of hops and barley colored a rich, clear gold.
“Liquor then beer, you’re in the clear”
Is the saying I remember from younger days; days when, on a dare,
I’d drink until the sun came up. It’s these days I recall as I sit
At the bar, the past singing to me in its mellow voice.

Midnight rolls around, and now my voice
Is slurred. I have a hankering for a hero,
So I order a sandwich at the bar. As I sit
And wait for my food, “Heart of Gold”
Starts playing on the jukebox, and I sing along as loud as I dare.
I’m totally wrecked - this much is clear.

So now I’m drunk and trying to write a sestina. It’s clear
That I have no idea what I’m doing. But an inner voice
Pushes me on. This’ll be the last time I dare
To take on a task like this. I’m no literary hero,
Just a person who wants to see a nice gold
Star added to where my trophies sit.

My thoughts aren’t too clear and tonight I’m no one’s hero.
As I return home, a voice tells me that my intake of beer, vodka and Cuervo Gold
Will force me to dare stick my face in the porcelain throne on which I normally sit.

Nearing despair, she prayed for a hero,
Singing her troubles in tones loud and clear.
Dead with exhaustion, she dropped down to sit,
Drawing as close to the fire as she'd dare;
Watching the flames dance around red and gold,
Listening, lonely, to the sound of her voice.

She slowly got used to the absence of voice,
Sleeping and dreaming of handsome hero
With strength in his arms and hair like spun gold
Drawing her up to the sky, blue and clear
Higher, still higher, as high as he'd dare
Out of the dark cave in which she did sit.

Meanwhile, up high on the mountain did sit,
Haunted by sound of the lovely sweet voice,
A man, young and strong, wishing he'd dare
To seek out this damsel and be her hero.
His eyes roamed the desert, his mind very clear,
Watching the sun set with reds, pinks, and gold.

Rolled in his blanket, he dreamed he'd found gold
While far down beneath him in cave she did sit
Watching the fire with eyes bright and clear,
Whining her fear in soft, mewling voice,
Praying with fervency for some great hero
To come here and help her - if only he'd dare!

Waking, he jumped up and felt he would dare
To search for the maid as he would for fine gold.
He knew he could find her - he could be a hero!
No longer upon the hard rock did he sit
But followed the sound of the sad, lonely voice
Which, as he got closer, was more and more clear.

He found her, and lifted her weakened frame clear,
Drawing her upward as high as he'd dare.
Slowly she calmed at the sound of his voice,
Her gentle hand reaching to touch hair of gold.
He carried her up to where he liked to sit,
Smiling at the thought that he was a hero.

Her mind was so clear under hair of spun gold.
She thought she would dare by his strong side to sit.
With her lovely sweet voice she said, "You are my hero!"

From the east I heard a mournful voice,
one that caused me to stop, and then to sit.
For it was sad, a tale not quite golden
And it rang out, and it echoed clearly.
I thought that if only I dreamed to dare
I might chance upon this plaintive hero.

I began to rise and seek this hero.
To hear a sound so tragic in that voice,
telling a story of loss and daring.
I could not in good mind just keep sitting
while that melancholy voice called clearly.
It was not worth all of a kingdoms gold.

So through green trees, under a sky of gold
I marched toward that lost and weeping hero,
and I walked by a stream so crystal clear
and followed the sound of sorrow's sad voice
until I came upon a warrior sitting,
face buried in his hands. Approach dare I?

My mind made up, I thought, “Of course I dare!”
Approaching slowly, breathing softly, golden
light streamed down on the man that was sitting
on a rock. I called out, “Well met hero.”
He raised his head upon hearing my voice
and stood proudly. His face was plain and clear.

No sign of tears ran past his smile, just clear
bue eyes, that at once seemed to gleam and dare.
“You have found me,” he said in that soft voice
“But why? Have you come to take all my gold?”
I laughed. “I came to find you, the hero
Who was singing in that mournful tone, sit

I'll tell you what it sounded like. Please sit.”
And as he did, my mind could see clearly
The story I did tell. “You see hero
I heard you singing of your life. Daring
death to look your way. Death smiled a golden
smile, and took you with him. Now find your voice

And sit awhile more.” Then he said, “I dare
you to see clearly. I am your golden
hero. Cry for yourself. I am your voice.”

I hear a voice
from my t.v. I sit
and listen to the sounds. I dare
not leave, I can not move. A clear
vision in red appears. The Golden
Girls are here for me, and Hogan's heroes

comes on at three. American hero
comes on next. His voice
a sweet and gentle memory. A golden
glove I could earn, if I didn’t sit
upon my arse. A clear
day, a rising sun. I dare

not leave. I dare
not go. My heroes
are on my favorite shows. Clear
and crisp my t.v. hums. Voices
whisper through the day. I sit
and listen, I can’t go away. Golden

Globes awarded to a few. Gold
trophies that delight them. They dared
to dream and did not sit
upon their rears. My heroes
fought for stardom. Their voices
raised in their tirades. They practice clear,

precise speech. No cough, no sneeze, it must be clear.
Their vocal cords their bread and butter. Gold
to them is what their voices
are. They wouldn’t dare
leave it to chance. Their personal heroes,
their best friend, is the doctor who’s office they sit

in. Once again I wander by and sit
upon the couch. My feet up, my vision clear.
All day long I watch t.v. My heroes
talk to just me. I help them achieve their golds.
If it wasn’t me sitting here, would they dare
to be so bold and lift their voices

to be heard. I sit and watch a review I think is gold,
it highlights the coming shows. I clear my head and dare
to hope. My new heroes, they talk to me. I hear their voices.