Rise Again

A poem about World Burn Congress!

There’s a place where hearts collide,

where broken wings relearn to glide,

where scars aren’t marks we try to hide—

they’re proof that we survived.

It’s called the **World Burn Congress**, friend,

where ashes fall but stories mend,

where endings learn to start again,

and pain becomes our teacher, not our end.

We come from near, we come from far,

each carrying our battle scar.

But side by side, we start to see—

there’s healing in our unity.

Laughter echoes down the halls,

hope paints murals on the walls,

and every hug, each tear that falls,

whispers softly, *“You belong to it all.”*

Workshops teach, but hearts do more—

they open up what’s hurt before.

Healing hums in every word,

in every story gently heard.

And not just survivors fill this space,

but heroes walking in grace—

the nurses who stayed through every night,

the doctors who fought for every life,

the first responders who ran through flame,

never once asking for praise or fame.

The therapists, families, caregivers too—

we see you, we thank you,

for all that you do.

You held the line when hope grew thin,

you believed in us till we believed again.

You stitched the wounds that couldn’t be seen,

you carried us through the in-between.

You are part of this story, this song, this rise—

the steady hands behind our cries.

See, the flames once took, but now they give,

a deeper way for hearts to live.

We rise from ashes, hand in hand,

a stronger, braver, healing band.

Each scar—a map of where we’ve been,

each soul—a fire that burns within,

reminding us through loss and pain,

God’s love and grace still remain.

For when fear said “stop,” His voice said “go.”

When darkness came, His light still glowed.

He walked with us through smoke and tears,

and whispered, *“I’ve been with you all these years.”*

Now look at us—

a family forged by flame,

with different stories,

but one name.

Survivor.

Responder.

Healer.

Friend.

Together—

we are the proof that fire refines,

that beauty blooms through burning times.

We are the songs that rise and soar,

the hearts that heal a little more.

So when you see us standing tall,

know the fire didn’t win at all.

It only lit the spark inside—

to live, to love, to testify.

So here we stand with lifted eyes,

where strength and second chances rise.

For every soul that knows the burn—

at **World Burn Congress**,

we rise,

we learn,

we *return.*

Not just to heal,

but to honor the hands who stayed,

to thank the ones who prayed,

to celebrate the fire within us all—

the one that says,

We may fall… but we rise again.

Because flames can fade,

but love—

love remains.

And hope—

hope still burns.

We are the fire that never dies.

We are the ones who rise.