A Survivor’s Anthem
The sirens screamed like a twisted tape,
Echoing down that cold escape.
Flames licked the sky, a hellish shape,
But Kevin walked through the burning gape.
They said, "A man ain’t built to break,"
But his tears fell hard for the lives at stake.
Ash on his skin, grief in his nape,
Yet he carried them out—every soul, every fate.
’92 wrote it in headlines and tape,
"Miracle Man"—but they missed the ache.
The weight in his chest no bandage could scape,
Just a heart stitched raw, refusing to break.
Now he wakes to the ghosts in the static and haze,
To the whispers that coil like smoke in his brain.
But strength ain’t the lack of the tremors you make,
It’s the love that remains when the world turns to grave.
So light him a candle or tip him a grape,
Toast to the ones he could never replace.
Survivor—not statue—his scars map the pain,
A man forged in fire, yet tender as rain.
Kevin R Nash, 1992.
