Our Sad Carol Without Rhyme (Almost) Poem by Adrian Antique

Christmas is calling
and we're alone
and short of breath …
pulses counting double -
our birthing is done
the fire has begun
an anthem almost over -
after the falling leaves of orange November
comes December's milky white sea flower …
a floating ice bud plucked from the riverside …
drifting toward us
getting nearer … and nearer …
so near it's almost kissing our dry lips
and hurting our drowning, blinded eyes
yet we stand cold and unmoving -
always stone ready
to be all on our own …
to lose another
and miss so much of everything -
may the carols and the lighted lanterns …
the singing and the burning …
tame us free and carry us
to where our dark past shall fail --
to once more push us into the night …
crush our hearts …
make us bleed …
and cover our sight with tears …
for we are wounded and badly broken --
and we're still seeking the manger beneath that big bright star.
love is also about picking up the pieces
of a fallen earthen jar
and turning the fragments into who we are
with a love that was borrowed and lost in time …
yes … this is who we are --
we're both eagles of the night …
a little family naked and shivering
only warmed by His candle light.