With Heroes Dead Poem by Hasan Haskovic

Undefined and yet tireless
In attempts to feel the sky cold, empty
Beneath my callous hands
I've come to wonder
Where my goals are to lead me
And who can compare himself
With a soul tattered and wretched?

With no heroes left
For allusion or false comparation
With no minds broad or deft
Enough to see through the dusk
Just a silent crowd
No cheers, no screams
Yet un-dispersing, tireless
In their crusade beneath the snow

With no messiah left
Flawless and true, overly fine
With no preachers among us
To connect us with God before our time
Just a dark fire, an empty forge
A memory of man clad with purpose and feeling
Today just a song, uninspiring
A gorge where thought resides

With no gods left
For banners to be burned in their name
To be the father of a new crusade
With no martyrs left
To cast the seed of selfishness aside
Just a field of tormentors
Cold hard, cold hard

And in a world
Where nothing bears reminiscence
Where lies are inducted and preferred
Over truth
What am I to say?
What am I to become?

We'll see, my friends
But not today, not tomorrow