A hero is born not from the laurels
Of glory but from deep necessity,
Each hero’s born in the midst of quarrels
But rises above them to abhor ills,
A sense of justice their actions instill,
There’s no label for their identity;
A hero is born, not from the laurels
Of glory, but from deep necessity.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
In yet another poetry challenge Sonya Annita Song provided the following lines for different poets to respond to:
A hero is born not from the laurels
Of glory
If you like poetry challenges try my open source poem challenge or check out Reowr.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 
I’m glad you added this to your site! I very much agree with the sentiment in this piece. Love this. 🙂
Thanks
I would like to do similar prompts. There is one on absence which, so far, has an absent response, lol. Beyond this, I would love to know how different poets respond to the starter:
Bitter and sweet,
Zest, pith and pip …
Your challenges may be a little too challenging/intimidating. I realized this with the zanze challenge that few people responded to.
I have no idea what I would write for those two lines. It would be on a completely intellectual level for me with no emotional trigger to aid the writing process. But I could also just be suffering from serious writer’s block as I cannot answer to my own prompt yet.
I take your comments about the two lines, though for me writing about something in the sensory world, in this case a fruit, leads, for me at least to a lot of potential imagery to be explored. I tried to make my original challenge fairly open The theme of absence and how it feels; most people have experienced the emotion of that. No rhymes needed, just a short repeated phrase and word. There are a lot of talented poets, including you, out there. But I’ll try to rethink my angle. You obviously have a way of inspiring people to join in. Thanks for the feedback, I’m off the write about fruit! 🙂
I look forward to reading your fruity creation! 🙂
The creation is already in this comment stream 🙂
Bitter and Sweet
Bitter and sweet,
Zest, pith and pip,
The sun on my back,
The tang on my lips,
In wide blue horizons
I silently slip,
In old cobbled streets
Where kind strangers live,
Between the tall houses
White billowing sheets
Like billowing sails
And sand stroking feet,
I am more myself now,
These meandering days
That will live in the tales
Of long- gone holidays,
When I taste that fruit now;
The bitter and sweet,
I return once again
To those old cobbled streets.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
🙂