The Hard Thing

Who’ll do the hard thing?
The question has been asked
He who must
The reply was given
But me, I’m not so sure
For the world gets no better
Our hero’s are no more
Indeed do we even want them?
Their very being and existence
Calling each of us to be better
To choose the path of pain
Or stand lonely in places
Others will not go
Not anonymous behind our media
No handle to hide our name
Rather to be held accountable
And risk the taint of shame

And me I did the hard thing
Reluctantly and with dread
Because who else was going to do it
And around we’d go again
I felt no sense of achievement
When I looked back on what I’d done
Only a sense of detachment
A desire to hide away
Obviously some are born heroes
On others the mantle falls
Fitting rather poorly
Not becoming or in keeping
With the character we keep
Inflicting us with torment
But challenge us to our core
Measuring our personhood
And requesting we be more

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