Ghosts of Christmases Past

Silver birds and shiny bells,
Tiny hand blown figures
More fragile for each passing year.
Tenderly wrapped in paper,
Yellowed and crackling of age.
With each solstice, another is crumbled dust,
Fragments remaining as testimony
That before was an ornament,
Cherished,
Handed down four generations.

Canning jar lids painted clumsily.
Handprints on colored paper.
A clothespin cowboy with a pipe cleaner coil.
All crafted in wide-eyed love for Daddy.
Hung each season with pride.

Baby's first Christmas.
Two of them,
Purchased in the joy of initial sharing,
Kept to be shared in the passing down of generational remembrance.

Tattered angel,
Beneficent gazer,
Her once white robe yellowed and tattered,
Announcing the joy of the season from the highest height.

A star once brightly painted
Now scratched,
Dulled with age,
Treasured still for its beacon of light.

These are the ghosts of Christmases past.
Gone.
Not lost.
Destroyed.
Tossed aside as valueless.
Victims of a tumult of change and ending.
The M.I.A. of a war not of their choosing.

Innocents killed in the fury of vengeance?
Casualties of the last act of control?
Silent symbols with pointing fingers?
Life and of love flung away as though their matter meant naught.

And now it is Christmas again.

My bitterness could know no bounds.
My sorrow could be inconsolable.
Except.
You cannot destroy the love with which they were saved and crafted.
You cannot remove the blocks of heart they filled.
You cannot force me to never love again.

They live in the bright laughter of children.
They exist in the exultant lift of carols into the night.
They exist in the joy of a newly heralded celebration.
They continue unabated,
Unhushed,
Unstilled.

The Ghost of Christmas future has no terror for me.
The Ghosts of Christmas past only serve to remind me
That the Ghost of Christmas present lives and laughs and celebrates,
 Despite you.

Memories abide not in things,
But in the things those things represent.
The glass may be shattered.
The careful crafting may be thrown aside.
The very messengers of heaven may be flung to the far corners.
Yet.

Faith abides in hope.

Hope flourishes in love.

Love overcomes all.

In the end, that is the meaning of Christmas.

Evidence

The only thing you've ever stolen from me
Is my heart.
The only lying you've ever done to me
Is in my arms.
The only thing you've ever broken in me
Are walls.
The only thing you've ever withheld from me
Is unreasonable anger.
The only prying you've ever tried with me
Is the loosening of chains
The only control you've ever attempted with me
Is of yourself.
The only dashing you've ever proffered me
Is to my side.

I trust you.
Implicitly.
Wholeheartedly.
Unreservedly.
Absolutely.
With my life, my mind, my hopes.

So why does the voice whisper "Wait for the other shoe to drop?"
So why do I linger in the thought "The Hellbitch will unloose herself?
So why do I anticipate imminent abandonment?

It is that somewhere,
Deep inside myself,
Resulting from my history and experience,
I do not trust myself.
To hope brightly.
To dream rightly.
To choose wisely.
These I fear to believe are within me.

The deepest deception I have ever known is my own.
The basest treatment I have ever realized is mine.
The greatest infidelity I have ever experienced is to myself.

Because of these,
I fear me.
So I diminish what you offer so apparently and freely.
.
God help me.

I Chronicles 21:24

Why, a rock?
Mineralized carbon, no more valuable than a common pebble.
Except it is rare,
Hard,
Sparkling with the light of a thousand suns.
Why, metal?
Refined  and shaped, silver in its gleam
Yet less dazzling than chrome.
Except that difficulty and effort define its acquiring.
To make a pledge,
A promise,
A decree,
A covenant,
Requires no more than an honest heart
Willing to begin but unwilling to end.
Requires no more than a committed spirit
Obedient to  voluntarily undertake
The warranting a lifelong journey.
This obligation could be met with a signed document,
A wax seal,
A simple avowal.
So, why a stone held firmly in alloy's grasp?
Because this rock reflects the lights of truth,
Of love,
Of the promise of God.
Because this metal,
Reflects the circle of life,
The perpetuity of love.
The continuity of performance to its conclusion.
Because this gem,
Stands hard like a warrior against the enemies of love.
Because this ore encircles with the promise of protection and constancy.
As David once said,
"I will not take away what is yours to give to God.
Nor will I make an offering that costs me nothing"
It must cost for to achieve this will cost me something.
This must be a sacrifice to assent to the sacrifices to come
Before God and these witnesses,
All I can give to you is exchanged for the privilege of traveling side by side.
For life.

Rage

Red and roiling
Bubbling, boiling
Seething and churning
Blinding and burning
I see those eyes staring and fierce
Death is poised my soul to pierce
Mouth a grimace
A yearning furnace
Grin like a jackal's
My breath locked in shackles
This is what I see
When anger appears I flee
Even in smallest degree
In fear I raise my plea
Don't kill me!

Wrong Again

Wrong
Again
Still
Always
Evermore
I am faced, once more, with the question
Of failure
Of accusation
Of the end.
From darling to dolt
From lover to liar
From cherished to chastised.
I know I have much to learn
About relationship
About about giving of myself
About comprehending and decrying my shortcomings
Why oh why
Do I fail to see my wrongdoing
I believed this beyond my control
This change
This inability to perform as promised
Yet I hear only
Hurt
Devastation
Broken trust
Lying
The promise never to quit
Or give up
Tossed aside as readily as unwanted junk mail
It seems no time
Is more to be desired than some time.
I have done my best to honor another life
Other desires
Other plans
To be sure I am not a taker
To leave intact the hard won accomplishments
To never inflict myself
And now I am a con
And liar of first degree
Unaccountable
Giving short shrift
Choosing another first
Overwheming pain
Fear
Doubt
Invalidate my own
I wonder
How do I respond
Bitter words
Anger
Hurt
Lie ready at the tip of my tongue
And so I avoid
Remain silent
Silence is better than words I may regret
My only defense against haste
The biting of my tongue
Separates
Divides
Wounds further
I hurt and cannot say it
I am wronged and cannot show it
I do not have a side
A point
I can only apologize for who I am
A hurter
A liar
A failure
Once again

Words

The graceful skill of a well-turned phrase
Whether poetry or prose
Is a grace well loved by all mankind
But 'specially dear to those
Who labor with the pen
And who hope somehow to find
A tale hid within a rose
To entertain the ken

They labor long over word and rhyme
Endeavoring to tell,
How scent so sweet to thrill the soul
It's color on the swell
Of petal, soft within the bud
The softness of the whole
And there entreat to dwell
In red as deep as blood.

Within the soul lies fire that burns
An incendiary star
It's light to shine within the dark
Brilliant more by far
Than most any word before
On the page, it lights its spark
It leaps within the jar
Lightning caught once more

With careful strokes of pen to page
Glistening with hope
The sweat of brow, the shout of heart
Reaching out to grope
For words with which to tell
What loving does impart
Unseen 'til now the scope
Oh, how to tell it well.

Yearning

This is not hunger.
That gnawing,
Aching,
Emptiness that seeks
To be satiated, then forgotten.
Though hunger, I feel.
This is not thirsting.
That pleading,
Burning,
Quality that calls
For quenching, and is relieved.
Though thirsting, I understand.
This is not lust.
That pulsing,
Pulling,
Longing that pleads
Release, and is replete.
Though lusting, I have realized.
This is not affection.
That beckoning,
Caring,
Infatuation, that signals
Tenderness and may be withdrawn.
Though affection, I have realized.
This is deeper, truer, than any of those.
This embodies all I feel,
All I am.
This is a wanting that is never exhausted.
This is an unbroken inclination to seek your heart,
Your soul,
Your very being.
This is devotion to a new history.
This is an aspiration to a better, brighter, existence.
This is devotion to a nascent reality that can only be brought forth
By your hand
Holding mine,
And walking the path of life together.
This is desire.
This is love.