Aaron's Corner

I want to thank Aaron Espy for submitting the following items. I want to thank God for giving him the talent to create such writings.

ALL ITEMS ON THIS PAGE ARE PROTECTED BY (c)COPYRIGHT AND MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S PERMISSION.

Because it Matters

His parents wished for him
a more prestigious call
complete with framed degrees
to hang upon his wall.
He chose instead
what beckoned him
since merry-go-rounds
and teeter-totters,
stolen away
 by a siren's song,
echoing loud, crying long.
Today he spends
his waking hours
taking vitals,
lifting stretchers,
turning couplings,
 turning hydrants,
turning out
to face "the furnace".
Drawn to danger,
schooled by sweat
in his endeavor,
asked why
he sacrificed
a convertible Lexus
and tenth floor office
for flame-melted aluminum
and bloodsoaked gauze,
he simply answers
"because-
it matters"

A Lion's Heart

Born within a little boy,
put there long before he's grown,
there beats a scarce, unusual gift,
long before his future's known-
It drives him through his first alarm,
through blackest shades of night,
and squarely into straits of  harm
to save another's life.
It  hurls him onto perilous paths
where others cannot, will not tread,
where lesser hearts from flames would shrink
you'll find him standing in their stead.

Some say he loves the sirens,
is enamored by the danger,
some say he merely seeks the challenge
of a raging fire.
Yet could it be his genuine valor
seeking but a chance
to shine it's light for one brave hour
into a  darkened circumstance?

He does not seek the media glare,
it's lights of  fame or glory,
but fights where others do not dare,
while others tell the story.
Within his chest a bravery beats,
by other seldom equaled feats,
in water deep or raging flame,
he'll risk his life yet once again.
If you would touch his pulse of bravery,
taste his salt of valor,
watch him as he fights for life-
he is a firefighter.

Quiet Hero

A quiet kind of hero,
you never found your name
in lights, or on a marquee sign,
you never tasted fame.
You never signed an autograph
for one adoring fan,
or heard the roar
of thousands more
resounding from the stands.
You never wrote a novel,
never ran for public office,
you never were a TV star,
or occupied a palace.

Instead you found your destiny
upon the fireground stage,
where wars are fought for human souls,
where conflagrations rage.
You forfeited your chance for wealth,
laid down your chance for fame,
and chose instead to give your life
to ease another's pain.
No history book will tell your tale,
but this the world should know-

You died just as you lived.
You were a quiet kind of hero.

Unbroken Bond

Never a bond more fierce,
than one of pride and pain,
never stirrings deeper pierce
than summoned by the bagpipe strain.

Never a pain more keen,
than loss of one who gives,
who counts the cost, their gift lays down,
so other souls might live.

Never the loss that deeper cuts,
yet drives our hearts together,
Never a soul we bid good bye,
yet lives with us forever.

  To make a difference

From somewhere deep within,
from sometime long ago,
you made a promise to defend
a life you did not know.
You heard the call, you filled the need,
you shunned acclaim and praise,
"to make a difference" was your creed
for that's how you were raised.

Your choice was not the gentle road,
you could have trekked another-
you could have chased the flash of gold,
and served yourself, not others.
Instead you chose this sacrifice
a debt we can't repay,
our tears cannot renew your life,
nor bring your smile back today.

The gift you gave, the price you paid
will never be forgotten,
as surely as your life you laid,
our gratitude is written;
inscribed today on history's page
for all the world to see,
a lore of one who modeled courage,
a hero's legacy.

Fair Trade

Pepsodent white,
his teeth were straighter
than Lincoln's memorial columns.
Certainly straighter than mine.

He flashed
a condescending smile my way
when I told him what I did.

"There's not much money
in firefighting, is there?"

I smiled back
through crooked teeth
set in a face not half as tanned
and fished from my wallet
burdened with  dog-eared pictures
and tattered pay stubs

but precious little money

a faded grade school image
of a giggling girl
who once lay
on the highway shoulder,

hair matted with blood,
pea gravel clinging to her cheek
as if she were a magnet,
for roadway refuse.


"Her mother gave me this,
when they came to meet
the medics who brought her back."
I told him.
"Rhonda's her name."

Keep your Mercedes.
I have her picture.
Thanks, but no,
I'm not trading.

Five Things a Firefighter/Medic Wants You to Know
Badge of Faith
Because it Matters
A Lion's Heart
Quiet Hero
Unbroken Bond
To make a difference
Fair Trade
Firefighters
You Had to Be There
Quiet Killer, Silent Valor
I Travel Light
Down the Runway

-Written by Aaron Espy, Firefighter/Paramedic

Aaron is a Firefighter/Paramedic in Kitsap County (just west of
Seattle, Washington). He has been a professional firefighter since 1980. He is a freelance writer, poet and has just started writing a bi-monthly column called "911-Fire and Rescue" for Kitsap County’s primary newspaper.