I am the voice that cuts the dark,
a steady thread through panic\'s spark.
No flashing lights, no uniform
just words I weave into a storm.
A whispered help, a shattered scream,
a nightmare breaking through a dream.
I guide them blind through fear and flame,
and sometimes never learn their name.
I hold the hands I cannot see,
through phones that buzz with tragedy.
A mother bleeding, baby\'s cry,
a stranger gasping not to die.
I count the beats, I beg them: stay,
while sirens wail from far away.
And when the silence fills the line,
I pray it’s not their final time.
But joy breaks through in quiet ways
a child born as the morning plays,
a pulse revived by shaking hands,
a breath returned from death’s demands.
These moments no one else will hear,
I keep them close, I hold them near.
For every call that ends too soon,
there’s one that hums a different tune.
I’ll bear the weight, I’ll take the strain,
the echoing of distant pain.
I’ll be the calm, the steady tone
the voice they hear when they’re alone.