Away in a manger
a miracle lay
2000 years ago they say.
How often do we ever pause
to think of Him,
not Santa Claus?
The hype,
the stress,
can steal the joy
about the birth
of this baby boy.
He came for all,
a sacrifice.
His death for our sin
God said would suffice.
Let's not forget
that He is the One
without whom our lives
would be undone.
Thank you Lord
for loving me
thank you Lord,
eternally.
a lonely walk
along a dark, snowy path
face lashed by wind
tears frozen in place
cold seeps in
where love and warmth once lived
The sky is filled
with pieces of gold
being tossed about
by playful winds.
It is as if
a mischievous child
has tipped the coffers
of the gods,
spilling their riches
upon the mortals below.
The impulse is there
to scurry after the golden coins,
stuffing my pockets
to overflowing
while images of incredible wealth
dance through my mind.
But the cool grass beneath me
and the warmth of the sun above
breeds a feeling of lassitude,
and I simply lie here,
watching the “pennies from heaven”
float upon the tradewinds.
The pitter-patter of…
well, not quite “little”
feet,
but just the same,
the sound that makes a home complete.
Through tears and tantrums,
rumpled hugs and sticky kisses,
I’m there – I’m theirs.
I yell ‘til I’m hoarse,
and they laugh.
I worry and wonder,
and they persist.
And just when I’m ready
to throw in the towel,
they come to me
sobbing “Mommy, fix it please”,
and while patching their childhood wounds
a lump rises in my throat
as a long-gone memory
saunters past,
and I recall when it was I
crying “Mommy, fix it please”.
Steel-encased beings
clog the litter strewn avenues
of the metropolis,
stopping now and then
to deposit their contents
onto sun-baked walkways.
Skyscrapers
stretch their skeletal arms
heavenward,
readying themselves
for the onslaught of workers
that will soon seek refuge
from the wool-mittened winds
that snatch at them in the streets.
Faceless names
mark doorways
passed by nameless faces,
winding their way
through the structure’s honeycomb
of rooms
and hallways,
their final destination
known only to the few
with whom they share their space.
Soon,
the halls are emptied
of their human cargo,
save an occasional straggler
caught slinking through the passageways,
arriving too long past the appointed hour.
The river of vehicles
has become but a trickle,
and for the moment,
all is calm.
It is 9:30 AM
in the Financial District.
I decided to create a second blog wherein I can post my attempts at poetry, fiction, and so forth. Constructive criticism is welcomed.
