What must it be like to be Superman? You see him and you are in awe. That Gods exist and you've never safer. You just shout and he's there. With a man as powerful and majestic as him, how can you begin to fathom what it means to be so small, so insignificant; and yet, he rescues you anyway, because he's as small as a speck as you are in this unimaginable, massive universe. It never dawns on us how vulnerable he is. A man who can stop a bullet or save the world from a invasion, that he can still feel pain.
The pain he feels is not like what we feel. He is alone. He is vulnerable. And he is easily exploited. He's an angel in danger of not losing his wings, but that someone might try to rip them off. He sees the good in people; however, even through his eyes he can see all but the intentions of our hearts. He is a brute, backing out of a fight for the better of everyone involved, and then blaming himself for the casualties.
A man that can leap buildings in a single bound, fly across the world, but he can't be at two places at once. He has the strength of a God; the delicacy of a flower. The composure of a king; and yet, the battles he wages are ones that cannot be won. Battles where he still feels alone. A man who can have it all, but has nothing to claim his own.
He can hear your cries, your hellos, and your goodbyes, and the ones who died too soon. He can be a savior, or God rest his soul, what will he become? With all his mighty attributes, he is still as vulnerable as the rest of us, maybe even more. He has the power to do almost anything, and his guard is down at the least opportune time. From saving a cat out of a tree or diverting a nuclear strike, he is occupied, and he is always vulnerable. He is always alert, never a moment a peace. He sees, hears, and knows. The Man of Steel, easily broken.
But the skin is not what you break. It is his heart. Believing in the good of others, he doesn't know the intent of what lies beneath such facades of which man hides behind. The Man of Steel is a symbol of hope, and also, a spectre of fear. How lucky we are, that he doesn't give us what we deserve. He is powerful, too powerful. We cheer him on during the victory, but we hide behind him while the war wages on. And pray he doesn't turn around. He is more than just a man, he is your protector and your end. His angelic display of power can be described as awe-inspiring, but he holds back. More than any of us can imagine. Had this power been given to someone abusive of their power, there would be no end. The terror would never end, the screams forever present, the hesitant, fearful souls that think to stop him, would die.
His heart is soft, and the only way to harden it is to spell destruction for the human race. He knows his limits, but we don't. And we underestimate one such god. Superman is a brute with a hand reached out, telling to end the violence; he doesn't know, and must surely know, it's impossible. He hears and sees all. The wars we wage, the death all around us, the greed and the manipulation. Everywhere he looks, there is fire and brimstone, and he is the one still trying to say it'll be all right. To pat us on the back and tell us he knows what it's like. A god, knowing why a peasant cries when a man of greed and power steps over them, scrapes them off his shoe, and throws them away.
It's not a bird, it's not a plane, it's a god trapped in a lesser world in a lesser time. What must it be like to be Superman? The best of us know.