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Showing posts from November, 2016


Calls of righteous pride scream out into a heated expanse.
Fire and water crash into thunder. A steam that seems only to rise.
Newly-opened eyes look around and see nothing but anger.
Division --The Great Vice-- threatens to tear what decades have let thrive.
And a battle of words not weapons. Fought over radio waves and power lines made of industry from decades past. An industry that seems forgotten.
A collective spirit struck. A long-lived harmony conflicted. And Us.
Between two symbols the crusade was fought, ripping apart frayed threads and trembling fabric. A blanket in tatters.
Divided selves, divided families, and divided communities. A divided land.
A frayed quilt-- the entirety of everything that was and is this land. Bloodshed and brotherhood. Science and progress. Unity and freedom. Onward determination and backbone.
Now the patches of generations and ideologies are loose, pulled at by the winds of our devise. And yet we continue cutting, hoping to make a distinction from …

Wandering Man

Down the twisted roads of a forgot highway you may find a wandering man.
His calloused feet, dirty hands, and tired legs.

The places he's past are innumerable, and if you ask him, he'll remember everyone.

The old coal town with no mine. The city with towering glass but no sky. The farming town with no water.

He's looking for a place to rest, but he's never found one because on this highway you can't rest.

Only go forward.

He's seen libraries with no books and farmer markets with no food. 

And everywhere he goes he does good. Making the towns a little better than when he arrived.

Cause he doesn't know where he's going or what he wants, and he may never, but he'll keep on walking cause he's sure he'll find out when he gets there.

In the distance a gunshot rings. And the man walks on blades of grass like blades of knives even when it stings.

But he never stops.

Some say he's lost. But how can you be lost when you've got nowhere to be? 

Some say he …

Making Someone’s Worst Day ‘a little less worse’

It was late at night when I found myself riding in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital. I didn’t need medical attention, but the silent 1-year-old infant on the gurney did.

The child had been having a seizure for almost 20 minutes. All I could think about was the worried look on the mother’s face as a team of firefighters and EMTs huddled around her baby and the panicked voice of the baby’s older sister as she told her mother that she was scared.

The ambulance rocked up and down as it sped down the road in West Valley. Mack Holt, a 22-year-old paramedic, was busy preparing a syringe with a small dose of medicine. He carefully administered the dose to the child. It took only a few seconds before the infant started to cry for the first time since we had arrived. The seizures had stopped.

“A crying baby is a good baby in this profession,” Mack said with a smile.

This is the type of daily routine for thousands of emergency medical technicians (EMTs) and other emergency medical…