Written by: valeria iliadou


A hero is not each man
Lying on green battlefields
With chest riven, bloody hands
Waving at his honoured Death.
A hero is that man,
Who grasps his broken sword
And fights fiercely, without remorse
The demons drowning like a flood 
The island of his soul.
He who dares to wake the sleeping dragons,
Only to struggle against their fire,
Even if ash is the last flavor he'd taste,
His spot next to Peace reserves and merits.
Heroic only are the eyes which sight
Those lands of Glory,
Lying only few steps away
From the Other Side of the stone world.
With David's bare hands
A hero angrily attacks against Goliathic fears,
Seeking the final redemption, the brightest triumph
For his troubled, divided soul.
Within a Solitude, never to be restored
A lonely rider chases the fifth Season.
Blessed is this man, who cries
With Heaven tears of freedom,
Tenderly embracing his fragile human traces.
Is there any deed more gallant, after all?