Following the path inside the shadow, Footsteps led to breathing shallow. The smoke filled the last hallway, Still, courage called along the way.
To save the next life was what truly mattered The rising heat causes windows to be shattered. Pushing forward, knowing only to wholly persist, Each fireperson knows that they must assist.
Across the flickering colored flames, I read a brave hero's scroll of names. All the firemen who live, filled with purpose Each who breathed their last in the name of service.
God lingers there watching in the shadows, Watching the embers as they caused some to swallow. Knowing that to save lives might cost their own, But they will not allow any others to die alone.
Rest now, your battles done, my fallen brothers. You gave your all that you might save others. There is no greater love than to give your death, Offering courage and hope to your very last breath.
Across the flickering colored flames, I read a brave hero's scroll of names. All the firemen who live, filled with purpose Each who breathed their last in the name of service.
In all ages, brothers and sisters have done their part, Each of them knew their chances from the fire's start. Rest easy, firepersons, you have answered your last call Met with a courage that was at least 10 feet tall.
Adrenaline and excitement burn crimson into the night. Geared up, the firefighters engage in their noble fight. Those who have passed away were too young to have died, I've kept this truth inside as I have prayed and cried.
Across the flickering colored flames, I read a brave hero's scroll of names. All the firemen who live, filled with purpose Each who breathed their last in the name of service.
(c) May 2, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
This weekend is kept in remembrance of all the firefighters who have died fighting so that others may still live. May God bless them and those who love them and have been left behind. My sister was fighting wildfires in Kansas two weeks before succumbing to breast cancer that took her life. I miss my best friend more than I know how to say.
“If Prometheus was worthy of the wrath of heaven for kindling the first fire upon earth, how ought all the gods honor the men who make it their professional business to put it out?”– John Godfrey Saxe
U.S. flags will be flown at half‑staff nationwide this weekend in observance of the National Fallen Firefighters Memorial Weekend, an annual tribute honoring firefighters who died in the line of duty. The military, the police, and this weekend, our firefighters deserve our honor and gratitude for putting their lives on the line for essentially ‘ strangers’.
“Any single man must judge for himself whether circumstances warrant obedience or resistance to the commands of the civil magistrate; we are all qualified, entitled, and morally obliged to evaluate the conduct of our rulers. This political judgment, moreover, is not simply or primarily a right, but like self-preservation, a duty to God. As such it is a judgment that men cannot part with according to the God of Nature. It is the first and foremost of our inalienable rights without which we can preserve no other.” – John Locke
It had seemed a sturdy step to take, And as suddenly, it became my mistake. Lying in this emergency room hospital bed, Time was given to think on things Tennyson said.
I found myself n the boundless deep, Setting there the emergency room's keep, And wondering about the roots of poetry again. I settled in to study the word doodles of Tennyson,
It strikes me as odd that he's become less known, At least, as the interests of the elite have shown. For me, he's someone with whom I'd conspire - Who better than the Poet Laureate of the British Empire?
His twelve narrative poems have always felt vital, And it doesn't get any better for a recital - Whether it be splendid moments of knightly gallantry, Or Tennyson's visionary idylls turned into poetry.
Words rightly strung together have their own melody, Pronounced as they are with sincerest empathy. Tennyson's articulate despair beneath an abysmal sea, These are the things Victorians found as fantasy.
Tales told were at once filled with the ancient, And brought forward by the echoes from the patient. Songs that were suddenly a kind of modern magic, Only a few of these hinted at being tragic.
Whispered terrors filled Tennyson's cosmology, At times, this ran deeper than ancient geology. New love, new legends, worldly science, and skepticism, All these joined to form his pessimism.
Tennyson's soul was a turmoil of polite revolution, Stirred as it was by loss of God, extinction, and evolution. Each impacted his intelligence and deep-set emotion. The problems of destiny and identity led him to devotion.
(c)April 30, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Page One, it's understood. It's under investigation. Who is the bad; who is the good? It's the secret initiation.
The misery won't back down, And the mayor has to be a secret clown. They talk about the dirty and gritty. That's just the feel of New York City.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
It will take a lot of luck and love, Unless we're protected by someone above. "When the law breaks the law, there is no law", Is more than a line from Billy Jack to recall.
The back and forth of retaliation, It leads to a climate of targeted assassination. Rumor has it that it's not who we know, But what will bring an end to the show.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
How do you temper the darker impulses Without fearing the worst of blood feud losses? A raging bull has been loosened and set free In this merciless world, there is no sympathy.
How, then, is it that the city sleeps Filled with naked sleaze and creeps? These are the days we live in, Every day is a walk through vapid sin.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair… or go into business. You’ve got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down. – Annie Dillard
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
ALOHA PROMISES FOREVER 