If you had forgotten
Christmas Eve –
Traditions begotten
On silent leave –
Permit me recall
To your dusty mind
This baggage I haul,
You’ll nowhere else find.
I squat here alone underground, so dark –
A basement built by my hands, so hark!
I’ll tell you whence forth my grievances spark
And render future shortcomings for easier mark.
Up above,
In social construction,
The warring Dove,
Cultural destruction,
Builds its nest
In countless homes:
A restless pest
Rewriting tomes.
The music plaguing the air for stones –
The force of their biting chill breaks bones
As under the crunch a longing heart moans
To futilely mend incomparable loans.
Those stones I count
Comprise the Earth;
Their cheerless mount
Is worthless mirth,
Each moment made
For itself beside –
As they ignorant fade,
I bide, I hide.
I bide for a time in the past, long away,
And every day fall to my knees and pray
That it returns in days ahead for to stay –
But I know such dreams far graven lay.
Children beaming
Cold snow mold
Ornaments gleaming
Arms sweet hold
Warm fire ablaze
Sweet feast delight –
A Star will raise,
Eager for night.
But I remain under cover of tomb, deep below,
Huddled near a pine from which candles glow –
But how long I wait, I grow caring less to know
As my hope with the flames flicker off and out-blow.
Morning's Early Dark 