What if...

What if reality was nothing more
nothing sure, nothing pure,
than our intepretation,
our imagination, our fascination?

What if the fanatic and the manic
seize the civilization, breed disease
of the mind through-out man-kind
and sink our society like the titanic?

What if you sing a song, to right a wrong,
but you sang and sung until you're numb,
defeated and bested, you're beaten and tested
but no wrong was right, no victory just a fight?

What if God was real and He made you feel,
you trust the bible over your wondrous will,
though the babble o' bible could be corrupted by
sinful lies Satan's spies speaking unholy ills?

What if this all powerful, all wonderful, all knowing,
and seed-sowing gracious God of green fingers
was planting lies among us, after all the greatest Evil
would try to rise above us, before we fall like a fool?

What if the bible strictly wasn't pick and choose,
no work on the sabbath in my blue suede shoes,
but to own a slave is savoury, that a life is property
and a strife lasting two days is 'handled properly'? 

What if following God wasn't the only option,
if there was a caption, from the captain to greet 
saying live on your knees, or die on your feet
'cos any other side is torturous when infinite?

What if God was a myth told from weaver to blacksmith,
and with the fifth pith the apple became a granny smith,
and you have faith in a wraith that isn't watching over you
you deny observation and excuse this citation:

You tell the nation of creation as a filtration of your fixation
in the relation of salvation via declaration to ensure divination
for your relocation via elevation and by now the impregnation of
the nation with your false fixation has made an infiltration as truth?  

What if every voice that is vocally preaching and praying
that is trying to to be kind, passing idea from mind to mind,
is actually a part of the greatest crime against mankind
by telling us to ignore insight and be lined behind the blind?

'Hero-to-be three!' by Aron Woolnough

You ran at me with a yelp
got on your knees for my help
eyes locked on a crying whelp
and your tears stained my cape.

My empathy grants a wish
a hand to help up the miss
my foe appeared with a hiss
and his intentions rape!

his eye was twitching, pumped arms
he was gripping, a cold bar, that he's swinging
time to get this fight on, shall we?

"Hey! I will save you"
I heard beside me
some guy in leather...
... a hero-to-be?

He dashed to the right
with the lady
while I just stood there,
not heroic of me.

Pow! Hit the cold bar
I fell by a tree
but from the branches
a guy covers me!

And with his fancy toys
tries to save me
some guy in leather...
... a hero-to-be?

He threw the foe at the wall
following in to the fool
victory and stood tall
and won his Juliet

I gasp and blinking, I kneel
is this dream or this real?
I don't know how to feel
so I pirouette

My eyes were blinking, heart sunk, reality slipping,
replaced? Powers draining,
I run over to address thee:

"Hey! You just saved her
you aren't a wannabe.
You know what that means?
We have a trilogy!

Hey! You just kicked ass
and you saved me;
some guy in leather:
Hero-to-be three!"

'Hero-to-be II' by Aron Woolnough

Time to record this happen-stance
of pain, heroics and jail-romance.
The world has settled after
jaws of death and it's crafter.
Some said it's daft to go on,
no match greater than I'd won,
and I suppose I will retire
when another will aspire
to take on new retro-attire.

Keeping an eye on newbie-potentials,
looking, waiting for key essential
elements to bring honour and safety
to the 9 to 5 citizens drinking tea,
as soon they'll need a Hero-to-be
and unfortunately I can't find,
the right body and able mind.

Finally, two big-hitters met
mid-homerun in half-pirouette,
crashing causing choas quickly
kick to the balls, feeling sickly
and on to his back without slack
the attacker's lanky limbs wack-wack.
--BOOM--
Tubby's naked and lanky's flying for
the unforgiving thunder god Thor,
and the bare sick round man was sore.

Though soon he was chasing fast!
As lanky landed shouting "Bast-"
he was met with a face of dirt,
rolling over to see a world of hurt!
A chair slammed down on a thin bone,
the round man will certainly atone
for the axe in the air hurtling down,
chopping the midrift of a lanky-gown
half a body was left to frown...

Damn... Left with a convict, no hero
who left me a cripple, who was too slow.
The title of Hero I will have to own
soon I'll need an heir to the throne
for now I am alone and watching trash
as they cannot handle a foe to thrash.
New power-seekers see me as the challenge
or old rivals train new blood for revenge
though no Hero-to-be, no one to protect me...

Oh, old rivals training new blood for revenge,
why, oh, why does Doctor Invento need to avenge?
That young fool used the cripple like a tool,
built him robitic legs, with jets 'n' all!
Meanwhile, the convict shudders in a trance
over-hearing two villians plotting romance,
screaming and pleading for help, from me!
Not knowing I knew of his actions you see,
but I'm a Hero, not a pant-wearing wannabe.

Another heard the call, the cripple, lanky, tool;
who ignorantly raced me to jail,
then innocently flew over the wall and stalled.
I arrived a moment later to see why Tubby called,
two thugs pounded his bare backside,
though one was taken out by Lanky's slide
and the other recieved a tap from the Hero.
My magic poisoned his hair roots below,
as they Gingered he ended his life - the foe.

Convict tubby axe-weilder thanks me,
I fly off pretending not to see
the lanky, robo-not-a-cripple-wannabe.
And not hearing tubby's blasphemy
as he looks up to see robo-lanky!
Will I finally find the Hero-to-be?

Double K.O. and I leave on a low,
finishing my tale of toil and woe,
hopefully I'll find a newbie soon,
to take this torch in lights of moon
and then I'll be willing to let;
fate take me to my sunset...

'Hero-to-be' by Aron Woolnough

I've heard a message from the grave,
that I need to step up and save
'cos danger will rave tonight.
So linger at the light switch,
like a bride-to-be before her hitch,
and don't trust the unknown dark.

Stop and wait around for me,
the pant-wearing Hero-to-be,
mutter me and you will see
a Ginger superhero wannabe
you'll think that I'm a slut or,
crazy utter super-nutter,
for showing off my underwear,
but you don't have to stop and stare,
just point me to the danger – don't even glare

At first I may mess up a little,
be patient as confidence is brittle,
so think before nasty things you say
'cos chances are you'll need me one day
and you can rely on me, whether it is a:

cat stuck up a tree,
gang attacking thee,
or someone bothering me,
time to reveal the Hero-to-be!

Like I said before about the gravy-wavy message plea
something is coming and it will want to mess with me
now cats, gangs and annoyances I can handle,
but I've never been burning both ends of the candle,
So I am starting to worry!

The danger has no mercy you see,
won't accept an apology from me,
after interrupting it's chaotic glee,
from defeating all those minions
I'm not favoured by evil opinions
and torturing the human resources;
so I listen to my well-trusted sources,
that I need to turn and fight.

Now the critter-crushing, shadow-casting
foe I face is wielding an almighty mace,
swinging-crushing my shadows as I dash,
my smile wasn't lasting as he was fasting
and I began to sweat.

Bet my heart skipped a beat
his mace landed by my feet
I really don't want to meet,
my maker tonight...

Evil grabbed this battle by the balls,
pulled 'em, crushed 'em in it's palm
luckily mine weren't at any harm,
so it swung it's mace and swoosh!
The whoosh rocketed inches from me,
I stood my ground and soon evil with see,
that I'm no longer a Hero-to-be!

A jump from the ground,
pirouette to a pound,
it's body fell without a sound
made quite the victory mound,
for now when you mutter,
you won't get an utter nutter,
you'll see, a Hero – that's me!