Heroes

Heroes

A Poem by Saint No-One

My grand-dad was a boxer,

Golden Gloves champ.

I always wanted to be like him

And I guess he never got that.

 

We were both fighters.

I brawled, bareknuckle,

In concrete dumps,

With roustabouts and runaways.

 

Till our eyes were black

And our knuckles dripped red,

Patched with filthy cloths

For raucous midnight conversations

In restaurants.

 

I went, on weekends,

Into the city

To find fists to call friends

And a place to call home.

 

I was a fighter,

But I was never like him.

I took on the world

And found my knuckles ground down.

 

I've broken my nose four times,

Each time reminded me of him.

 

My grand-dad was a soldier

And he's killed more men,

Women and children,

Than I have ever loved.

 

It's funny that when you get older,

You meet your heroes for the first time.


© 2013 Saint No-One



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Reviews

when one learns who they really are and who they want to follow in there lives, they become whole.. nice work with poem.

Posted 4 Years Ago


I love seeing you grow through your poetry and how you learn more about yourself over the years. Well done.

Posted 4 Years Ago



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Added on August 18, 2013
Last Updated on August 18, 2013
Tags: hero, granddad, boxer, soldier, broken, fighter

Author

Saint No-One
Saint No-One

Madera, CA



About
I am an artist, but my mind doesn't work the way I want it to. One day I'll be, washing myself with handsoap in a public bathroom, thinking how did I get here? Where the hell am I? more..

Writing
Maps Maps

A Poem by Saint No-One