Poem: In the Line of Fire

In the line of fire, where silence breaks,
The air is stitched with the sound it makes—
A crack, a thunder, a fleeting breath,
Each step a wager, each second death.

The ground remembers every fall,
Names unspoken, it keeps them all.
Smoke curls upward, a ghostly choir,
Singing low in the line of fire.

Hands may tremble, hearts may race,
But courage is not a fearless face—
It’s choosing to stand when shadows conspire,
Holding the line in the teeth of fire.

Ash on the wind, and steel in the soul,
Fragments of fear we try to control.
Hope flickers thin, yet climbs still higher,
A stubborn flame in the line of fire.

And when it ends—if it ever does—
What remains is not what was:
But scars that speak, and a quiet desire
To never return… to the line of fire.