“This is, first and last, the real value of Christmas; in so far as the mythology remains at all it is a kind of happy mythology. Personally, of course, I believe in Santa Claus; but it is the season of forgiveness, and I will forgive others for not doing so.” – G.K. Chesterton
The Fight After the Fight
by Michael Doyle
The first death you see
Strips away a layer of life's dignity.
It stays with you like an aura you wear
While you fight the pangs of despair.
The pain grips you by the heart.
As you look into the eyes, and life departs.
Whoever tells tales of war's glory
Has probably only seen from outside the story.
Losing a brother or sister in battle
Is a lesson learned, more than a saber's rattle.
It's the pain in a rucksack's layered carry
As you remember the souls of those you bury.
There is little more to be done than to move on.
But at night, you remember the dead and gone.
To think of this in the Christmas season,
Feels to me like a strange kind of self-treason.
Alas, still, here I am, thinking of you
And wishing I drank to give you your due.
All I have is this quiet moment of misery.
It's another layer of my life's mystery.
This then is the fight after the fight.
I pray just to make it through another night.
Not thinking about what it is I now lack.
But living to honor your fade to black.
It was said that the Chaplin would be available.
Yet that required more words than I was capable.
Steadying my grit instead for my brothers, left and right.
I determined to man myself up for the next fight.
While I wondered if I myself remained efficient,
The Jesus I know has always been sufficient.
Going where needed, I locked up with intensity,
Carrying a memory of you, in its full immensity.
Carrying a ghost has always proven itself heavy.
Little by little, we do our best to conceal it as we bury.
Rumor is that we are only responsible for our own weakness.
And so in this season, we seek our measure of happiness.
Saying one more prayer through interlinked fingers,
I salute you as my old memories bring tears and linger.
I bury myself in the gift of my new self.
Blessed by your memory, and a carol from the wooden shelf.
(c) December 5, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life – the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.” – Claude Monet
“Learning is not attained by chance, it must be sought for with ardor and diligence.” – Abigail Adams
Writings On My Wall
by Michael Doyle
I sit here like some poor lost soul.
I am regretful of the times I've lost control.
Now, I sit here quiet as a church mouse,
My fractured memories churn inside like a ghost house.
Thinking of how like a lion, I dared to roar,
Filled with revulsion at being used.
I screamed like an eagle needing to soar,
As my wounds spoke clear signals of being abused.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
Full of empty, spacious rhymes,
And perhaps in need of a muzzle.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
All twisted up inside.
My inner child hides behind my pride.
I taste the colors of your rabid profusion.
Adrift at sea, I sail through your illusion.
We were so close, yet I walked alone.
I carried your sorrow, and swallowed my own.
My soul turned to gold at the sound of Dedalus falling.
The nightmare you forced on me was my childhood calling.
I played my part like a forgetful hero in a masquerade.
The papers played me as a hero. I was so very afraid.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
Full of empty, spacious rhymes,
And perhaps in need of a muzzle.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
All twisted up inside.
My inner child hides behind my pride.
In a freeze frame of a pendant and a pendulum,
I stared out the window, hopeless and feeling numb.
I sat there alone, wounded and bleeding,
Feeling cold and alone, and filled with needing.
Like a broken arrow, I fell into your lost sea.
Your writings on my wall stay a mystery.
Written in my blood as you laughed, I cried.
I wonder to this day how I hadn't died.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
Full of empty, spacious rhymes,
And perhaps in need of a muzzle.
Sometimes,
I'm like a one-piece puzzle -
All twisted up inside.
My inner child hides behind my pride.
(c) December 4, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is not the convinced Nazi or the dedicated communist, but people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction, true and false, no longer exists.” – Hannah Arendt
(We are living in dangerous times in which this aberration has taken over the mindset of the allegedly “Woke” and their fellow travelers. There are only two genders. There is objective truth. It’s often our struggle to determine this. But truth exists all the same. We can apply this to any number of topics and should.)
“Think of the Father as a spring of life begetting the Son like a river and the Holy Ghost like a sea, for the spring and the river and sea are all one nature. Think of the Father as a root, and of the Son as a branch, and the Spirit as a fruit, for the substance in these three is one. The Father is a sun with the Son as rays and the Holy Ghost as heat.” – John of Damascus
Finding Serenity
by Michael Doyle
Waking at the opening of the Advent Season,
I find myself thinking about the reason.
I've come alive in this house of worship.
Hope is the cause of this right relationship.
Feeling the beauty of the Lord's creation,
My heart soars, inspired by my imagination.
Believing as I do, how you have removed separation.
In return, I offer my grateful dedication.
Surrendering my life's all that I might follow,
The Son shines on my life as merely an echo.
Now and forever, I pledge all of me,
Giving all of me, for the miracle of eternity.
Yours is the holiness filled with power.
I reflect on this in this hour.
Observing as we call on your holy name.
I dive into the service of devotion's frame.
I take my place at your holy table,
Doing my best as best as I am able.
Christmastide is a reflection of your divinity.
I celebrate this within my prayer of serenity.
I live every step in loving prayer,
Doing my best to show to all that I care.
In all that I live and that I do,
I love my life well spent in Heaven's view.
I remember coming alive with my decision
As I turned my life into matching my faith to vision.
It's been a blessing to see what God has done.
I give my life to the service of the three-in-one.
(c) December 3, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“Fame is a vapor, popularity an accident, and riches take wings. Only one thing endures and that is character.” – Horace Greeley
“Whoever commands the sea, commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.” – Walter Raleigh
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