Christmas Mourning
I question Adam’s hymn, O’ Holy Night,
while I retreat upstairs on Christmas Eve
comparing his to mine to fill the night:
His was a quill that spilled of quelling leaves,
of grace contrived to save the petty thieves
once hung from twigs composed of disbelief
condemned to hell for causing others grief.
His notes were angels on a snowy plain.
His words were lowing, pure, and eloquent.
His song, when sung, reminds of cleansing rain;
a prayer of praise for God’s embodiment:
For unto us, a Son, the Father sent,
whose death would cleanse the hearts of guilty men
whose path through life was one composed of sin.
And now I question: What’s defined as sin?
Is it to squeeze a heart that’s mostly innocent
and quell the rhythmic joy that beats within?
To steal my child, so pure and eloquent
and lock away my love’s embodiment?
A midnight hurr’cane sent to swell my pain
that leads to mourning Christmas once again?
Mine’s not a song it’s a SCREAM drenched in grief!
Where is MY daughter, god? Why did she leave?
My knees won’t budge for no more than a thief
who threatens damnation unless we believe!
But, there’s a calmness felt on Christmas Eve.
And when I’m back downstairs, it’s by His light
I pen this poem that I need to write.
Date: 11/24/2018
Contest: CHRISTMAS MOURNING
Sponsor: PS Awtry
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