The tinkle of ladies voices in the kitchen
In the den the basso rumble of the males
From the yard the laughter of tiny tots
Beneath them all the sound of Christmas tales
Mistletoe and garlands garnish doorways
In the corner a 12 foot tree towers high
Brightly lit and ornamented with much care
Then admired by all oft with a sigh
Tempting smells of cookies in the oven
Goodies and food on tables there for all
Wines and Irish coffees freely flowing
Making sure all here heed the season's call
The empty blackness swallows the love and joy
And mutates bright colors to shades of gray
Evil, cold, and lonely it overshadows all
Relentless it keeps all rays of light at bay
They say echoes can't happen in a vacuum
But they've never lived inside the black
Where echoes of Christmas just never stop
Reverbing from the walls then bouncing back
The brightness of the sounds bring only pain
Never to be touched by outstretched claw
Icy daggers slicing heart and dying soul
Leaving tortured nerves bloody and raw
Christmas sounds echo from steel clad walls
Testing sanity's limits and it's bounds
A gun, a noose, the pills the hope to stop it
Anything to end the echoes of those sounds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poetic grasp of you experience is phenomenal. Tempted to say your a genius. You're not nobody that's for sure.-M