In the hospital.

He arrived five minutes ago.

A boy not much older than me,

With three gunshot wounds.


The brother witnessed it, immediately he

Rushed his dying sibling to help.

The boy was now stable, but his brother still,

Could not stop crying.


The next day I visited the boy.

He was already standing, walking

Down the hall and with his brother.

They only called it a miracle.


Two weeks later, I return. 

I hear distant thuds of a helicopter,

Carrying a man directly from,

His rolled and flattened car.


The man cared little for,

His scrapes and splintered bones.

He only cried out to know,

If his son had also survived.


Two hours later I see the man,

Lying stable in a bed but

Sobbing, embracing a small boy, promising

Never to endanger him again.


For months, I watched as patients arrived,

Was put to work and shown the ropes

To fix, to heal, and stabilize, and even

How a man can perform miracles.


From this I know I want to be

Dependable, be that person to trust

To save a life and to make people think

They live because of miracles.

This poem is about: 


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