A Poet at Christmas

 

A Poet at Christmas time,

is a curious beast,

whose only desire is to write a

cozy, comforting piece about

family love, or good tidings,

peace and joy.

 

A nice poem about, perhaps,

settling in by a roaring fire,

as chestnuts roast and

the firelight glitters on the

garland and tinsel hanging from

the softly lit Christmas Tree.  

 

But a poet at Christmas Time,

is strangely burdened by the

emotional weight of the Holidays,

the excesses of material desire,

the many hungry mouths and

shirtless backs.

 

Donations can be made,

goodwill wished,

but there’s always this nagging

sensation, as we sip hot chocolate from

white mugs and stare out windows at the

gentle drifting of light fluttering snowfall,

that there’s too much pain and too much suffering.

 

In a world so largely connected,

yet separated by it.

A division that can’t be healed,

with egg-nogg, or any nogg for that

matter. Just a revolving door

of well wishes and in-action,

thoughts and prayers, in

actionable times.

 

Gifts for loved ones,

wrapped under the tree,

but nothing for those we do not see.

And it weighs on me.

But we do our best and what

we can, and we let it be.

 

(Sip) Mmm… good hot chocolate…

(Blinks) – Hmmm… snow falling…

Happy Holidays, from poetry.