Brothers Whose Names He Does Not Know

I wrote this right after 9-11 as a tribute to fire fighters everywhere

Brothers Whose Names He Does Not Know

Klaxons ring out as the foundations of the earth are shaken,
Bells and Sirens, flood the air as lives are lost and taken.
Theirs is not a choice they have to dare,
for they answer a call, to serve, to care!

Their charges flee down the stairs in orderly confusion,
as heroes advance upward in resolute dedication.
Not questioning, just answering the call,
unable to do any less, than giving their all.

In silent obedience into Hell's own fires,
driven by duty spurred by their hopes and desires.
The weakened building sways and then buckles,
Floor by floor, descending to the street it crumbles.

Now he stands amidst twisted steel and crushed concrete,
smoldering fires beneath fill his boots with sweat,
His great coat torn, dusty and smelling of smoke,
the acrid smell of burnt and unburnt fuel makes him choke.

He knows his brothers lay somewhere below,
Brothers whose names he does not know.
He had arrived as the mass of steel had settled,
he cursed the time it took, as if he had waited.

In his heart he cries and a little of him also dies,
his comrades, his brothers, his own, so he tries,
Lifting tons of rubble with hands and back,
Moving the mass and descending into black.

Now, He fights an unyielding foe, time ticks away,
as a minute becomes an hour, an hour becomes a day.
No one knows how many, no one knows how few,
Yet these men with motives pure, remain true.

Perhaps at best, one out of every thousand still breathing,
But, in the midst are people in despair and in needing,
Yet these men still toil, to help even if just one.
To continue the fight until the fight is done.

Their arms ache, their eyes burn, their hearts beating,
putting off rest, hardly eating, seldom sleeping.
For he knows that his brothers lay somewhere below,
Brothers, Whose Names He Does Not Know.