All Ye Faithful Poem by Will Thomas

All Ye Faithful

Rating: 5.0


Humbly, he had hoped for more,
in this the third Christmas
beyond the all-day therapy sessions,
the all-night interventions,
beyond the 3 a.m. phone calls
-frenzied, frantic-
to a voice in Chicago, Illinois
that might save his life for just one night.

He had begun to believe
that head-down perseverance
might carry the day-
even if buttressed by modern chemistry,
on-line dating,
a clear-eyed and sweet-souled therapist.

He had hoped
to inch back finally
from the ledge,
to be gently seduced by life:
dazzling and dancing works of art,
colors and clusters,
a new front porch,
fingers seeking solace and celebration
in moist garden soil,
dappled and dewy harvests of bud and blossom.

From time to time,
he thought the worst might be over,
weaning himself from one drug,
reducing the dosage of another.

And there were moments
(there seemed to be moments)
from his deck on an incandescent summer afternoon,
from the dock in a ribboned autumn sunset,
when (if he squinted and strained,
swallowed his breath,
and craned his heart just so)
he could feel, could see, something with the texture
of tomorrow.

And yet.

Heart edging open.
Heart slamming shut.

Highwire courage.
Creaking caution.

Here a canticle.
There a dirge.

In the past two years,
he has written both grim obituaries
and modest lines
of meager resurrection.

Trying again and again
to harness his hopes,
cocooning the cocoon,
and yet endlessly shaping
the threadbare possibility
of wings,
and flutter,
and flight.

Christmas,2005.
'Tis not (quite) the season
to be jolly.

'Tis not the Dickension carol.
Ebeneezer,
swaddled in red velvet,
renewal,
redemption.

'Tis the season
(this season)
to endure.

'Tis not
-this, his timid and secular prayer-
the end.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Esther Leclerc 08 March 2006

'...and craned his heart just so.' This person is real. Thank God, hope dies hard, not easily, in most.

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Anna Russell 06 March 2006

Interesting use of the 3rd person Tom... This is a potent, poignant poem which gets more rewarding the more you read it. I'm sending you an even huger hug than usual. Anna xxx

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