The Washing Away
by Michael Doyle

The scars of mistakes made
Are deep enough not to fade.
As our eyes search for our guiding stars,
Sometimes we are embraced by our scars.

The flames of burning hate
Distract from our latest grief.
The teeth of fire flicker as it grows late,
While their ashes speak of belief.

Living water may wash away all sin,
But still a mother sings her song of mourning.
Some wish for a second chance again,
But these dreams fade with each morning.

In the village, life continues
As if war has never blown by.
Beneath the skin, the pain continues.
Still, its easier to laugh than to cry.

The weapons of war poison the heart.
It doesn't make for peaceful ways.
It is such things from the start
That brings the end of all days.

Living water may wash away all sin,
But still a mother sings her song of mourning.
Some wish for a second chance again,
But these dreams fade with each morning.

For some it's a choice of love.
Others still will stand and fight.
Both follow the traditions of above.
Honestly, neither is fully right.

Those who live with intention to kill
Follow Satan's not God's will.
Those thirsting for blood's awful taste
Are mainly known for living their waste.

Living water may wash away all sin,
But still a mother sings her song of mourning.
Some wish for a second chance again,
But these dreams fade with each morning.

(c) August 3, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved