I am a self-made kachillionaire
Who has experienced many a thing
Only to find it all a flop
And opposite inspiring.
Every outing proves a nuisance –
Every meeting is a bore –
Every holiday does ache me –
Every greeting an eyesore.
So I funneled all my resources
In an expedition to the North
Where I hoped to find a childhood dream
Who might make my money’s worth.
For the only thing which brings me hope
In a land tainted by spite
Is to find that fabled Santa Claus
And bring his deeds to light.
Look at how each child has lost
The wonder childhood holds
As selfish adults weigh them down
With the miseries they’re told.
We don’t believe in anything –
Only the loss of what was naught!
And I hate that I, a kachillionaire,
Are now plagued by these bleak thoughts.
Therefore! Sparing no expense
I gathered craft and crew
To humor this which leaves me bent
Or chalk my life askew.
The news crews all were blazing
To explain my sudden craze
But their theories were just glazing
Meant to sour public praise
For a slew of hopeless, bitter grumps
Felt my dying wallet’s throes,
But more hoped for us in their hearts
Who sought action over prose.
Act I did! Through glacier peak
We drilled straight for the Pole
To discover there was nothing there
But a dark, depressing hole,
The circumference of which ran for miles
And echoed all our shouts
As if to affirm we’d wasted time
And curse us with nothing but doubts.
My team had been handpicked
And our journey silky smooth
But the certain onset of failure
Threw off their professional groove.
They yelled and groaned or sat there, silent –
True signs of giving out-
They blamed each other. Then they blamed me
In the comfort of furious doubt.
My answer was to plunge fast over the edge –
Hope and rope firmly in hand –
Against all cries for me to return
To the despair of my fellow man.
Towards the bowels of the Earth I dove headlong
With the passion of escape –
Down a throat darkened with ice,
Swiftly seeking the nape.
The rope cracked taut, my senses lost
Their calm and stable bearing –
When my blurry vision finally cleared
I thought my sanity was tearing.
For, just thirty feet below,
Like a sea-beast breaching nigh,
Was a starship larger than a liner
Lined with lights bright as Dubai.
I cut my cord, hit the deck
And might have slid right off
If a hundred little mitts retracted
Instead of hoisting me aloft
And dragging me through a tight porthole.
My face blasted with heat
Like the snug embrace of a fireplace
Returning life to frozen feet
That might have run from beady eyes
Glowing warm all round about
If the inner depths did not now echo
From a deep-bellied jolly shout:
“Hohoho! Our guest arrives?
Please, Elves, do show him in!
His present is quite ready,
So our feast will soon begin!”
The Elves, so-called, but more akin
To blue gel-filled gingerbread men,
Rang out in joyful din
That brightened up their den
While lifting me high with gelatinous arms
To spirit me through tunnels winding
I peered through the gloom of their metallic ship
With its steam-spewing vents a-blinding –
Yet all above us twinkling bulbs
Draped down ‘long every pipe
Pulsing gently like stars in a desert sky,
Shaped like sweets of every type –
Golden tinsel snaked through guardrails
Lining platforms that we crossed
As the echoes dark below us
Floated faint “Ar Hyd Y Nos.”
We reached a door embossed –
Poinsettias carved on frame –
And, as the elves led me inside,
I heard him call my name.
Striding into the velveteen dining room
Paneled with a library’s choicest oak
I spied a spread of meats and veggies
That smelled of faintly fragrant smoke.
At the end of the table, in one of two chairs
Sat a portly, pensive fellow
Who I knew could only be Santa Claus
By his clothes, his twinkle, his bellow,
Down to his nose were as the legends tell
And I had finally proved
That hope in the unreal was not yet lost…
So why did I feel so unmoved?
“You’ll pardon me,” he chuckled deeply,
“If I ask you to sit here beside.
The wish that you carry is mature in its years
And might find my lap undignified.
For I know what you’ve come to ask me
Though you don’t quite know it yourself
Since you’re convinced beholding my person
Is enough to put fears on the shelf.
But, after you’ve lost your faith in the season
And in the future of mankind,
You realize, standing there before me,
To think you’ve fixed things makes you blind.”
“How do you know this?” I muttered softly,
Sinking in my chair with despair.
He smiled and sighed, gazing into the furnace behind us,
“Because even I’ve been there.”
“Just a few centuries ago
On a planet much like this
Was a species much like yours
Living in ignorant bliss.
Everything we always shared,
Communities tight-knit,
Our civilization blossoming
With an ever-expanding kit
Of technology a human could only dream of –
Like my elves who welcomed you –
And my sleigh, a smaller spaceship,
Powered by spiritual fuel.
With reliable resources
And a stable way of life
We began to feel unvalued.
Lack of purpose, like a knife,
Divided friends and family
By values and the need
To be overappreciated,
A hunger that did feed
On politics, religion,
Relationships and schools,
Entertainment, financial arrangements
And simple social rules
That had us at each other’s throats –
A maddening plague of the head
Where selfishness and always getting
Left all true Givers dead.
As last of the Kringles, I do feel some shame
Leaving my planet behind
To grapple with doubts that you and I share
And Lo! Was lucky to find
This planet of yours, with Givers abound
Who selflessly offered in spite
Of their lack of resources and very ill health
From the dark cold of Christmas night.
Inspired by hope and the joy of the season,
I decided to lend them a hand
By producing some gifts I made in this ship
And spreading them across your land.
Yet, as your planet matured and was met with progress,
Those Givers rapidly dwindled
And I fear that I played some part in this –
A spool round which their thread spindled.
Your species has somehow got in their head
They deserve more than they should expect –
To tap on all shoulders, to knock on all doors,
Cup their hands each moment they get.
Is this all my fault? Have I spoiled them to death?
Literally, can’t stress it enough,
Since the start of the plague that ruined my homeworld
Found the root of its rot in our stuff.”
I nodded, agreeing, then told him all
That I had witnessed firsthand;
How its music and friends, its newfangled trends
And an addiction to the broadband
Cultivated a culture that made me ashamed
Yet, somehow, spared me its lure –
Which, I believe, was thanks to this man
Who offered us all a brief cure:
The wonder and hope for what we can’t see
Gives our childhood a brief respite
To prepare for pursual of our farthest dreams
Though the world wants to crush it in spite.
I know that I, a kachillionaire,
Would not have reached for the moon
If it did not strike me normal at nine
That a sleigh could fly ‘cross it to grant me a boon.
Though my future is thanks to my hard work
The belief it could even be got
Was renewed each comforting Christmas morn
So it may never be forgot.
Santa laughed and thanked me
As we cut the Christmas goose –
I could have sworn I saw a tear
From his eyes’ twinkles had skated loose.
“Your words are kind, I thank you.
I never do forget
Of what inspired Santa Claus,
But some things I regret.
You may have noticed, but held back:
There is no Mrs. Claus.
My elves are artificial
With dextrous digital paws.
My reindeer are the spirits
Who evacuated with yours truly
For they knew that nature was fruitless
With no one to see it grow unruly.
But my point…” he cleared his throat
And glanced off to the right
Where, casting glimmers on the rug,
Loomed a spruce of towering height
Catching each lick of flames fireplace –
Tongues of purple on every limb –
It was calming, soothing, to stare at it,
And I felt some inner peace within.
“This Christmas Tree I took from home –
An anomaly there as is here –
And only when loneliness clutched at my neck
Did those Christmas Dream Fires appear.
They burn with the hopes of all children
And whisper their prayers in my ear,
Which, with my limited power,
I set out to grant for their cheer.
It brings me fulfillment and joy
I could not otherwise have received –
Selfless or not, my life’s purpose
Was for the good of others achieved.”
Santa rose – I now realized
How humble he was on his throne,
But now that he stood with conviction
It was clear ten feet he had grown –
“Find your tree. Not inspiration
That sends you off in a mad dash,
But someone to hold your aching heart dear
Like the embrace of a warm winter sash
To keep you from freezing, to keep you held fast
Lest your mind beginning to wander
Forgets the importance of people you know
And time with no rhythm is squandered.
For pursuits that affect no one but you
And dreams for yourself you’ve been seeking
Are as formless as ghosts in the cold winter chill
And disappoint like pathological peeking.”
Drawn on by his charge, and my own perplexion,
I opened my eyes just to see
Before me was parked that classic sleigh model
Soaring through childhood fantasies.
Santa helped me on board with a firm gloved hand
And I could see the joy on his brow
As blue shimmering beasts on the wind coalesced
And hitched themselves to the sleigh’s bow.
He roared in a language no linguist would know
And up through the ship we ascended –
Through steam and machines, I saw his faux elves
Pausing to wave from the toys that they tended.
Up, up, we rose vertically through the hole
I had plunged with no thought for the after
Until we hovered over the surface at last
And were greeted by merriest laughter
From the doubters! The blamers! My despondent crew
Giving up before they had been tested.
And I couldn’t believe just how happy they seemed
At their precious hard doubts being bested.
That campsite fell far behind us
As we dashed for the thick of the Eve
With Northern Lights guiding the helm
And I grasping tight to Nick’s sleeve.
It felt like a dream, to be up there,
And I could not describe my elation
Until it was over – my ears painfully popped
From an acute drop in elevation.
We landed atop the penthouse suite
Of a scraper in New York I owned
And I suddenly felt so very ashamed
At how empty and unlike a home-
But Santa interrupted that thought with a clap on the back,
“Off with you, I’ve presents to bring.”
I stumbled off onto the snow-laden roof
As his ethereal reindeer started to sing.
“Now remember, my friend, the tale I have told.
From here, it’s all up to you.
Find your tree, root it, let it grow out
With voices you know to be true.
Some Yules might be lonely, be ready for that,
But know it’s all right in the end
For Givers are ready to receive what you are
And you’ll never be lacking a friend.”
With a crack of his reins, the lights shot right off
With that jolly old man on the winds
As I turned back inside, shivering and cold,
But with a heat rising high from within.
The penthouse echoed as I opened the door –
No decorations, I had left on my quest –
Except for one tiny addition: a gift from Kris Kringle
And the source of the warmth in my chest.
Potted there on the sill, against the black sky
Turning orange with a sun poised to rise
Was a cut from Nick’s tree, lit by faint purple flame
That flickered with its muffled sigh.
So, by the gleam of the dawn on this glad Christmas Day
I make a vow by this blessed branch:
To emanate hope for us all – we all need it –
And to give those who want it a chance.
Our lives are not ours, but a gift from above
And while purpose pursuing our scheme
Is essential, it’s just means, never ever the end.
We need each other to realize dreams.
Morning's Early Dark 