The one's I'll Never Know

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.