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Jerry Efobi Poem
The pull is universal.
During Christmas season,
Everyone thinks towards home.
No matter the religion or philosophy,
The homesickness of Christmas is real.
Even forces of nature succumb to that pull.
Lesser duration of sunshine on Christmas,
Even more or less intense
As it seeks the way
Home among the stars.
The moon comes closer home
To earth, rending full light for gift.
Water vapours come down
Again to their earthly abode
In the form of mist.
All of creation seeking the way home to be reborn.
They learn from the Holy couple,
Seeking homeland so as to give birth to Him.
With that and more I still maintain;
That I shall be home for Christmas.
Copyright © Jerry Efobi | Year Posted 2017
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Jerry Efobi Poem
In an English Man's arms she was introduced to Christ; the young princess of Aztec.
Under the warmth of his breath she was told the story of the Manger.
She thought she understood the tale, completely.
Yes, so she thought.
For as long as the blue, flickering eyes of John Smith gnawed into hers, every tale became
Tales of Love.
She did not understand the philosophy
But she knew the very concept of Christmas, Love.
On her first Christmas, Pocahontas
Stood under a Maple tree on a misty mountain.
She gazed afar off into Virginia.
Her love had travelled to England.
Her maids loitered behind her.
Pocahontas missed the teaching session from the bible,
On her first Christmas.
And yet upon the mountain she stood contemplating Love,
The true significance of Christmas.
Even her first Christmas was lofty as it was divine;
The young princess of Aztec.
Copyright © Jerry Efobi | Year Posted 2017
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Jerry Efobi Poem
Cherish the day of the Bethlehem child.
Heavens celebrate him till now,
and forever would do so.
Redemption messages from the throne of
grace fill the air.
In flakes of snow and tiny dusts of from Sahara they were inscribed
and poured down on us.
Salvation songs howl everywhere, sing the songs of
heaven accompanied by the sound of the breeze
Trumpeting as they sweep past the snow-capped mountains and rain forests;
the mellifluous sound touching down to the souls of men.
Mourn your loses no more. Inhale the blue night’s air
of the Christmas eve.
And speak one last time to your soul;
it shall be well with you.
Stand before the silver frame and repeat the same words
to the person in the mirror. IT SHALL BE WELL WITH YOU.
Copyright © Jerry Efobi | Year Posted 2017
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