There were no lights, no holly and the ivy;
no red-breasted robin to sing in festivity;
no cheer of any sort to warm the cold winters;
no berry red Santa bringing sacks of presents,
only blood red legionaries, bringing Pax (with blades)
and the hungry hoping that it wouldn’t snow.
And after all no ear did hear his coming,
because we only listen to music that we like,
and no eye did witness the raging storm
of heaven contained within tiny feet and hands,
for sometimes the first line of a poem
is best when it can only be whispered.
So into this absent-minded world of winter
(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),
came a mustard seed shaped Christmas,
that didn’t end with an angel or a star on a tree,
and the hat that was worn for this main event
you wouldn’t get from pulling any crackers.
And into this absent-minded world of winter
(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),
how silently, how silently,
the wondrous truth bomb is dropped,
and God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of dark dreams stopped.
