A poem I wrote awhile ago.

Angel in Red

As she stands back and watches

her life go up in flames,

she remember the good times

long with the pain

of her romance, her heartbreak,

and the child she bore—

the child engulfed

in the thunderous roar.

Her tears hit the pavement

and quickly dry,

just like her life will

if her little boy dies.

She wants to protect him

like a mother should.

Protect his smile, his dimples,

his sweet childhood.

She can hear him crying

if she closes her eyes;

she looks up and screams

at the god of the skies.

Then a man goes in,

all dressed in red.

"I'll get your boy out,"

is all that he says.

She prays and she hopes

that they come out alive,

but when the flames grow

her hopes take a dive.

What if they don't make it?

She starts to cry:

I'd have no reason to live

if my little boy died.

She sits through the agony,

the pain, the unknown.

She imagines the worst—

her son dying alone.

She makes herself think

of what he last said,

"I love you," he told her,

before he laid down in bed.

Then out of the flames,

the red dressed angel appears.

With a limp body in his arms,

her only hopes turn to fears.

As a single tear falls,

"I'm sorry," he says.

The fireman hands her the body

of her little boy, dead.