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Nadia DeLevea Aug 2017
Though  flames  may  roar,
And  raging  fires  sore.
When  fear  stricken   heart,
We  always  play  our  part.
 

The  bleak  unsure  smoke  rises  dense  and  dark,
Each moment  grows  longer  with each little spark.
No matter  the  struggle  we keep  fighting  through,
Alert  and  aware  we  know  what  we  must  do.
 

Blind  to  a  hand  just  before
our  face,
Against  the clock  we  must  quickly  race.
For  when it  gets  down  to the  last  desperate  wire,
Swift  and  efficient  we  will  put out  that  fire.
 

Though  the  chances  are  we’ve never  met,
When  needed  a  savior  you  can  always  expect.
While  echoed  sirens  may  blare  and  ring,
We  hear  the  muffled  night  cries  sing.

 
There's  no  such  thing  as  simple  routine,
Ignoring  monotony  that  lies  in  between.
Very  real consequences  we are more  than  aware,
From possible  situations  beyond  any compare.
 

Not  a  second  allowed  for  one  breath  of  fear,
Never  a  moment   to  shed  a  single  silent  tear.
Because  when  you're  in desperate  dire  need,
We  will  always  strive  our  very  best  to  succeed.
 

Blood  flowing  in Red,  White  and  Blue,
We’re  Brothers  dedicated  in  all  that  we  do.
In  death’s  darkest  shadows  we  may  dare  to roam,
Yet  we  know  that  we  may  each  not  always  come  home.


This  is  our deepest  heartfelt  desire,
Given to  us  from a  place  so  much  higher.
In  all  that  we  do  each  risk  taken  for you,
Our  passion  runs  deep  we’re  dedicated  and  true.
 

Some  tend  to forget  that  this  is  our  real  life,
That  we  also  have children,  friends  and  our  wife.
We  walk the  thin  line  though  it  sometimes  narrows,
In  this world  we are someone’s  real  life superheroes.
 

In case you forget dear when you leave in the morning,
I ask you darling to please head my forewarning.
When  overcome  with  adrenalin I remind  you  to  fight,
To  come  home yourself  dear at  the end  of  each  night.
Thin Red Line  By Nadia DeLevea
Pearson Bolt Apr 2017
positivity is a plant without root,
withered petals dangling acute.
obtuse excuses are abusive homes
with leaky roofs and we're spluttering
in the gutter as our lungs
fill with rainwater.
integrity is small and it is fragile,
but at least it's foolproof.
i critique, therefore i am.
engaging consistently
in an emancipatory endeavor,
a liberatory tour-de-force.
false hope is a ******* noose,
endangering our biosphere.
the anthropocene is here.
we will not survive
if we remain aloof.
pursue truth.
"If it can be destroyed by the truth, it deserves to be destroyed."
- Carl Sagan

National Poetry Month, Day 17.
Broody Badger Mar 2017
When you think of me
if you think of me,
imagine who I am when no one is here. Because usually no one is here.
Imagine me smoking alone,
and hating every bone—and looking around myself.
Imagine me bathing, and In the mirror checking out, and being happy finally with what is there.
It's all I have: the fleshy bits.
Wonder about the way I wonder, and
feel one way about it. Or another.
Think about me running,
think about me crying,
I am all alone in this.
is the lady kosher
when she talks on the subject
of integrity
that is a bit rich
for some to ingest
surely she must think
they're not onto
her falsehood crest
honesty pays
when dealing with folks
yet on many occasions
she's unharnessed
its yoke
her principles were shredded
by the things she did utter
oh for her lips
to convey
the proper
taste of butter
Time is an illusion
Unveiling the deception
Of hate.
Hiding behind walls built by vanity.
Bricks of insecurities concealed broken hearts.
Shattered into a million pieces,
creating a puzzle that longs to be put back together again.
A wound heart becomes a cold petrified incarcerated soul.
Imprisoned by fears where love can't exist.
Love is infinite and fears give boundaries that reflect deception. Because it causes people to hide their true feelings.
True love has no limits.
emily Jan 2017
My wall was not always stained red;
the map that hangs upon it has bled
from state and country and continent,
the scarlet of a million lives
seeped through porous paper skin,
akin to the breached security of violated hearts,
severed arteries never to be rejuvenated
with the livelihood of broken nations -
left to weep,
wounds unhealable in the pained whirlpool of terror and tragedy.
my heart cries for those seemingly reduced to lesser beings in these past few days. today i stand for all those who cannot.
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