Carols For The Wicked Poem by Katherine H. Belle

Tis the season for remorse.
for unforgotten troubles.
For Laughable accusations,
that have no ground.
Increase in volume
does not mean
Increase in relevence.
nor does it maximize the blow.
No. That job was done long ago.
On the cold, forgotten nights,
of a long lost past,
that only i seem to remember.
But now, my dear
Now, the tides have shifted.
And the moon set oh so high,
in that dazzling, lavender sky,
It beckons me home.
To a roofless, sleepless slumber
where i can run freely,
and forget all my troubles.
where i can learn to breathe without you
where i can learn to forget you.
And be my own, Forever.