Swirling mists, smoke and mirrors.

Masses of mourning people weeping-

Cemeteries of vanquished heroes.

The lost leaderless be wailing.


The darkness suffocates the soul,

The people sit longing for a hero to rise.

The flickering lights do grow old-

Now feeble minds raise eyes to a stormy sky.


Into the clouded heavens they gaze

As into an endless abyss they plunge.

They cry in despair, veiled in haze.

Cursing the deeds of old that were done.


Rubble and ashes, buried in smoke.

We mortals are but shadows and dust.

Shattered jars of hope!

We are undone, oh woe, woe is us!


The dragons and owls scream, the prophets lie.

Broken down ruins, woe is me!

Without a vision, the people die!

In despondency we let run the powers that be.


But hark, oh mortal, from the shadows of devastation,

And from the deepest depths of darkness,

Will come the fire of a nation.

From among the devastation, will rise one of the best.


From the ashes, will a hero rise!

A giant, a lion, an unstoppable fury!

A man who walks through the fire!

From the darkness . . . will a hero rise.


Story behind the poem:

I’ve been watching the Dark Knight Rises. 😀



picture by Mateusz Stachowski


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