“HIS WATCH”

HIS CLOTHES SMELLED OF SMOKE,
FROM BATTLING FIRE,
FLAMES LIVED IN HIS EYES,
HIS LOVE, HIS DESIRE.

DID HIS EYES EVER FEAR?
AS FLAMES RAGED AROUND,
SEARCHING FOR LIFE,
IN EACH VICTIM HE FOUND.

AIR HOTTER THAN HELL,
SMOKE BLACKER THAN NIGHT.
WITHOUT VISION OR BREATH,
HE WON'T GIVE UP THE FIGHT.

COUNTLESS FUTURES LIVE,
HOW MANY DID HE SAVE?
FROM THE BRINK OF HEAVENS DOOR,
BECAUSE OF ALL HE GAVE.

HE LIVED AND BREATHED THE JOB,
THE HONOR WAS ENOUGH,
TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE FEW,
STRONG, DETERMINED, TUFF.

NO MORE BATTLING THE BLAZE,
HE PUT OUT HIS LAST FIRE,
HUNG HIS LEATHER HELMET UP,
THE DAY HE DID RETIRE.

SO MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED,
I PRAY FOR MANY MORE,
BUT DEEP INSIDE HIS SOUL,
HE STILL HEARS THAT FIRE ROAR.

EYES BECOME ALIVE,
RELIVING DAYS AGO,
TORTURED THOUGHTS OR HAPPINESS,
PERHAPS WE'LL NEVER KNOW.

WHEN AIR HORNS BLAZE WITH SIRENS,
HIS HEART BEGINS TO BEAT.
WISHING THIS WAS HIS RUN,
AGAIN CHARGING DOWN THE STREET.

FIRE PUMPS THROUGH HIS VEINS,
ON A NEVER ENDING QUEST,
FOR THE MAN WHO BATTLED FIRES,
ONE OF NEW YORK'S BRAVEST.

TO YOU HE WAS HERO,
NOW CONTENT AS GRANDDAD,
THE MAN OF THE RED TRUCK,
TO ME HE IS MY DAD.

    by Anthony Petrocelli
dedicated to his father (my father too)