It’s fun to be the hero 
when the laurel
is tucked behind your ears
and jubilation 
rises up from the streets
and the hangers-on
say they were with you all along, 
telling stories of the trenches 
as if they were
right by your side. 

Nobody wants to be Noah
standing on dry ground 
with secrets from the gods 
whispered in his ear. 
An outcast
A pariah
A righteous man
with the mission 
of crazy 
laid at his feet
and the future of the future
resting on his
solitary shoulders. 

Who can blame Cassandra
for her shrieking tone
that made the world 
turn a deaf ear?
Did the predictions well up
inside her like a raging tide
she was powerless to stop? 
Did the doubt
they thrust upon her 
carve a hole at her center?

I marvel at the strength 
it must’ve taken
to bear the truth and
press forward 
when the whole world 
looks at you
as if you have lost your mind
because you won’t accept their
collective madness.