The Fireground
Who are these men who walk this ground,
of cinders, smoke and fire?
A tightrope stretched 'tween life and death,
they balance on that wire.
A load to bear, they feel the pain,
and pray for tranquil summer rain.
Their eye is kept upon their goals,
to save some stricken, tortured souls.
With lessons learned, from fires burned,
they'll face this test, no time to rest...
A job to do, but what they need,
is strength, and luck, and true Godspeed.
Their choices tough, the hour late,
then comes a wicked twist of fate.
With vicious strokes, the devil's hand,
sees fit to trip a fire-man.
As he drops, he takes a breath...
and falls in toward the jaws of death.
The devil’s henchmen laugh and grin,
and begin to raise their glasses…
But Phoenix-like he spreads his wings
and flies out of the ashes.
Copyright © 2002
Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment