The Christmas Cafe

The Christmas Cafe I scratch my nails against my head and ponder a while in thought, but my soul turns bare And Death twirls his curled hair. Taunting me as my breaths become caught. Caught between the living and the dead. A cafe with dim lights, like some sort of spiritual dread. Snow blankets the ground, Raucous laughter is heard As I see you cross the room But don't say a single word. Instead I conduct A choir in my mind And wonder if you'll come To my own short demise. But here in this place, I swear to you it's safe To whisper words of praise to the left-behind days Where you and I betrothed We swore we'd never leave And now that we're Dying out in the cold we can both pick white lilies to grieve. But you couldn't handle the words and the ink. And now that we're a second out of synch, Our very last winter, for us, it crafts this; A cafe caught in the middle Of a wonderland bliss. Where we can still meet our eyes crossing over down the hall. Where we can Still Pretend that once, we had it all. But as I reach my gaze to you, I seldom pass out of the blue. You reach into your heart and pull it from your chest to mix with mine and the falling snow And then, too late, you rise to go. I pull you under blankets Of death and grief and hell And just before you go, The door twinkles its last bell. The shop is closing up, you see, Except for its last ghost with me. The pub empties out into the street The people socialize and scream For they can still ignite their dream with our once burning heat at the level of our true decree. But none of that's found in the cafe today. And the door slowly closes as you find your own way. And the night starts to fall, Gentle leaves flowing from trees standing tall. The branches are bare, and inside there's decay. But our souls still rot on to live another day. Just like our hearts, As the beating won't start But perhaps we can find some Comfort In knowing That as we look out at the cold winter snowing That Christmas lights dim And the faint choir hymn twinkles gently on underneath the same moon. And perhaps the soul will at last alight As in different worlds, we count the starlight. Finally Accepting That we'll both be dead soon.