Inner Conversations

Terrance Schaefer

"There are no more heroes left in the world,"

At least that's what they always told him, Particularly the Devil at the 24th St bar. He wasn't sure about that, this one who Usually walked alone, this Thief of Dreams, Such was the normal "name" he was known By, thanks tothose within the sacred hoop.

How could this be then, if the human heart, Could hold so much love, so much emotion that It would make the very meething point beyond, Heaven and Earth shake with a furious count Of creation and destruction, of the very fiber Of love and hate, be there nothing beyond now?

Know what? The fact that this mortal life is frot With the ultimate balance of foolish redemtion And creative elegance, that they know what is Within my own desire, the need to keep her close, To complete my selfesh need to feel her skin Next to mine, to hear her breath within my mind?

It was always something of a mantra he lived by, (What else couldbe avalue when it's all he knew!) In this pitiful life, in this reckless day to day race to Oblivion, to turn down the glories of understanding In order to become something less then human, A monster, a shell that refuses to see life as it is.

He chuckled at the silly question, of course it was. Wasn't it? Heroes were so few and far between, The Devine guidance, once sought by the faithful, Now was nothing more then the fallen bits of the Shattered dreamthatthose within the woven life Fabric shared in the space of a few minor generations.

Again, there was almost a surreal smile, the answer Was easyenoughfor this Thief of Dreams, the Battles we fought, the victories we rejoiced in, The loses suffered through, the ones we stood By and stood with (especially her in his case) Made this life, in particular, one worth living.

"But why are the battles so hard? Why so many?"

Why so few? was the only retort he had now.

Beyond that, he cared little.