No Bullets Left

Ed: I would like to introduce this powerful and moving poem by Richard, a cardiac arrest survivor. This poem takes the reader on a journey through the survivor's experience, from the moment their heart failed them to the ongoing struggles of trying to piece their life back together. The words are raw and honest, capturing the fear, confusion, and resilience that comes with surviving such a traumatic event. With its insightful imagery and thought-provoking language, this poem is a must-read for anyone who has been affected by heart disease or knows someone who has. So sit back, take a deep breath, and prepare to be moved by the words of a true survivor.

No Bullets Left

No bullets left

The war is over, but the fight just begun. 

How did I get here, to the middle of this fight?
everything fine, then plunged into night.

A war savaged land, so barren & bleak,
my memory lost, words I can’t speak.

The enemy came, attacked from inside,
A trojan horse, my heart suffered and died.

Eyes are raw and I see no end,
To my feet, this body, I must defend.

My heart is my gun, with no bullets left,
riddled with doubt in this broken chest.

Taking aim in sight, but no one is there,
shrouded in fog, please hear my prayer.

So tired from crawling through all of this pain,
keep taking these pills, they won’t keep you sane.

Reach out my hand, reach for my brother,
Another shock now, duck for cover.

Back to the trench, awaiting my fate,
waiting to reach that pearly gate.

So many questions, no answers in sight,
why am I here, why do I fight?

All this confusion, panic and fear,
no one can hear me, I’ll just disappear.

Left on my own, to figure this out, 
to recover my life, here comes the doubt.

I don’t know how, to lead this new life,
war now over, but a constant strife.

A battle for knowledge, no manual made,
how to fix, this soldier so brave.

Pieced back together, a fragmented past,
sorrow and sadness, flags at half mast.

This is my life, forward I must go,
out to the fields, sorrow in tow.

To figure this out, blindly, alone,
guessing and feeling, no ropes have been shown.

Onwards I march, try not to look back, 
back on the day, a heart under attack.

Richard Yeowart Moore

I’m a father of 2 boys, suffered a heart attack followed by cardiac arrest whilst running the Blackpool Marathon at the age of 40.