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Christmas Morning passed through Yesterdays and Today arrived
With bags so full of sharp winds of change, that I knew he had come
To separate the clouds from rain. So we sat a while talking,
At first Shooting the breeze, looking back through Years
Of mistaken airs of love that blustered important, puffed a big chest,
When all the while those Days hid behind mountainous skirts of fun.
But this Christmas Morning, once he settled, was not about fun,
Rather, deeply stirring. For, the old Years like clear mirrors arrived,
But all cracked up in a continuous maze encasing my chest.
Those Days framed my Christmases Past behind broken glass, now come
To change Today into likewise memories, of shard-filled Years.
The Days kept churning, churning but Christmas and I kept talking,
Lifting the white-out tape that covered Years of not talking.
Christmas prodded me on and moved farther away from fun,
Until not one fragment of my mask survived to hide the Years
Of Christmases Past--I was sorry that Christmas Morn had arrived
Upon my steps, dredging old Days that could never change or come
Back. Oh, how it seemed, the ache would never leave my chest.
Christmas Morning uncovered souvenirs in Pandora’s chest,
Revisiting every town I lived in with incessant talking,
Lingering there with little promise of what purpose was to come.
I was convinced that his sole visit might be to ruin fun
And put in its stead, reality. Why today did he arrive?
Then regret dwarfed anything worthwhile from my past Christmas Years.
I fell on my knees to collect tiny pieces of distant Years
Trying to insert jagged bits back in my chest,
But Christmas Morning took my hand, and I, in one motion arrived
At my senses once again, shaking off old, soothed by his talking
Over Other Years’ din of accusals, regrets, and false fun.
But those Days failed to fuse together what was and is to come,
For regretful Days gone by do not equal Christmas now come,
Nor sorrowful Christmases lost amid Days and Years.
No, Today’s Christmas Morning diffuses true fragrance and fun
While nestling and burrowing a home deep within my chest,
And reposes there the still small voice of my Christmas talking,
Breathing change within. Oh, how I salute the day you arrived!
This Christmas Morning You placed your hand upon my chest,
With truth and crimson sword drew out lies, while your sweet voice talking,
Gave blessed assurance that new Christmas Days had arrived.
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