This one is sad but true to experience for many on holidays, yet hope exists.
Tis time for Christmas, aches and all. We have a stake in a babe’s nativity - swaddled all in God’s creativity. Star-wonder. Moonlight. Crestfallen snow white. Buried beneath happiness are many who have fallen asleep. We must keep up traditions of light, merry and bright. Our teeth must glisten, and our tongues must tell tales, for a new generation to listen. We who’ve lived many Christmases must hang our tears in stockings, decorate our trees with memories. Each generation thinks their gifted something new. The old is regifted. Our eyes sparkle, ever brighter, like Benjamin Button when he’s born old and dies in infanthood. Both sides of a copper penny shine, then the luster subsides, but the soul resides in a Christmas-y place with pearls and lace, streets of pure gold, where nothing gets old. Tis time for Christmas… Hope and all…
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.