"The Story of a Hero" by Jermaine Leroy Joseph

The Story of Hero

The darkness and the shadows Roiled and spat their hate, Acid like the rain did fall Upon the mortal gate. Birthed from wind and fire Cursed with claw and wing Demons in your darkest dreams Can you hear them sing?

Once there was a mortal Blessed with gifts was he. Strength beyond all other men And skill to set them free. For as the rain came falling He took his father’s sword, And called to him a holy host To that mortal door.

There they met a hooded thing, Twisted with disease, With drunken hate and blinded eye, This figurine did cry. No pity did our hero show To no man gone before, A flash of red, a flash of black He thrust his father’s sword.

Next came they to the gate of Hell, Demon’s eyed them, faces fell They leered and cringed before this host Hiding from our hero most. So came they to the waterfall Where all grief goes and nightmares call. Demons from their darkest dreams, All at once they hear them sing!

A might battle thus ensues, The host is blooded, battered, bruised Yet triumphant they press on Their company a hundred strong And hence our hero shouts his name A sound to make all creatures lame, So they pressed on into Hell The gateway closing to the bells.

Underneath the shadows the crossed the land of Dis One by one our heroes fell into their darkest dreams, Till only one man stood alone Stood with sword, and lance and bow Looking down upon the dead Not a single tear is shed. Alone once more without his host Our hero walks like Dante’s ghost.

Carrying his sword aloft A guiding light to all the lost, Onwards does our hero go Through Cerberus his lance is thrown And through the keyhole made of ice He does discern the River Styx. This way now he must avoid, In awe his eyes like a young boy.

To bring this epic to a close, Our hero came to where sin goes And there buried in sheets of ice He sees a very shocking sight. There before him is a throne, Made from skin and made of bone, And there seated, eyes so red He finds the Lord of sinful dead.

What happened next no man could know The stories tell of a crystal throne, And they say the world did quake And so fell the mortal gate. And that sword rests in the hands In the hands of a boy not yet a man To take a journey some day soon And come at last to frozen rooms.

Carven now upon the sword Runes upon the blade are scrawled It tells the story of a quest Of the hero very best. And a message to a son For when his mortal quest is done. Nothing else is as it seems, Remember even demon’s dream.