“Let us make merriment
Song after song
This joyous indulgence
We could not go wrong!
Dole out the carols and
Swap the wrapped gifts!
‘Thy we do herald’;
Also this happy drift!”
The Men of Great Age do stand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
Great ancient staffs at hand,
Nonetheless always bolder,
To bring forth the truth amidst
Well-meaning jeers,
To smolder the smooth thieves
Creeping in between cheers,
The burglars of confusion that
Prey on the blurry,
Their weapons in fusion with
Season’s joy starry.
“Hear ye! All pilgrims who
Celebrate now!
Your chances are slim, should you
Want to turn round!
Your candlelights flicker,
Though maybe not always;
Your dance steps trick you to
Slow-waltzing a-way.
This soiree thus grand and
Magnified it seems,
Your heart stranded here
In this ballroom, and teeming
With darkness beneath, and
Shadows behind; they
Sway you; and teeth bared
They wait for your blindness to
Stumble you helplessly
Into their power,
Engrossed in recklessly
Trampling the flower that
Hides in your heart, the one
That knows true beauty
Lies not in bright cards, or in
Blank formalities
But hope of real meaning
Words bringing weight and true
Freedom to those finding
Refuge from hate,
Lostness, sorrow, despair;
Searching for fire,
The heart to repair,
To mend broken depths only
Flames can help see,
Things otherworldly
Things of eternity,”
Random Blotches 