Written by Rebecca M. Bell
Filed under: This is not a drill.
They said she was dramatic; then the house collapsed.
🕯️
They’ll say it wasn’t that bad.
They’ll say we misunderstood.
They’ll say it was complicated.
But you can smell the smoke.
This poem isn’t a warning. It’s a timestamp.
For the ones still sleepwalking— or still pretending not to see.
Because the bell is ringing; and some of us were born to be sirens.
If it resonates, pass it on like a spark.
“The Bell Is the Fire Alarm”
by Rebecca M. Bell
They asked: When will we know it’s time?
As if fire waits for permission.
As if history rings the doorbell.
Listen—
the bell is not poetic.
It’s the fire alarm.
And it’s been screaming
this whole damn time.
You just called it
background noise.
Politics.
Someone else’s fight.
But the building is on fire,
and you’re still complimenting the wallpaper?
There are children in cages.
There are bodies behind paywalls.
There are flames
where we used to keep books.
This is not a drill.
This is not theater.
This is smoke in your lungs
and silence in your throat
while the exits disappear.
They gave you a blindfold
and called it patriotism.
They gave you sedation
and called it peace.
But peace doesn’t hiss.
Peace doesn’t gag.
Peace doesn’t disappear
into the algorithm.
So what will you do
with the oxygen you still have?
Whisper another excuse?
Or scream?
You are not imagining it.
You are not broken.
You are not too late.
You are awake
in a burning house
they swore was safe.
And the bell—
the bell is ringing.
Not soon.
Not someday.
Now.
You are either
holding the water
or feeding the flame.
Choose.
🔔
If this made your chest tighten,
if something in you stood up straighter mid-read,
it’s because your body already knows.
There’s no going back.
But there is forward.
There is through.
And there are others waking up, too.
👁️🗨️ Signal received?
🗣️ Share it. Scream it. Stitch it.
🕯️ Tag someone who still believes in matches.
📎 Download the image. Print it on the wall.
🔗 Repost this link in a comment they won’t see coming.
Because this isn’t just poetry:
It’s evacuation protocol.
Written from inside the bell tower,
—Rebecca M. Bell
www.rmbellwrites.com
[@rmbellwrites across platforms]
This is really powerful!
I'm going to scream louder than ever before with the oxygen inside my lungs 💎
A very nice poem. Reminds me of an actual house fire when our house burned down.