A Christmas Present

Every year, it is a tradition of mine to spend the entire month of December writing a single piece of poetry that I dedicate as a gift to someone who has stood out to me for one reason or another. It is something that I hold in high regard because I spend nearly a whole month on writing the piece and, therefore, I try to make it my last crowning achievement in poetry for the year. This year's work goes to someone special to me... her name is Joykie.

Merry Christmas Joykie, you told me once that poetry is the best gift anyone can give, and you rightly deserve this because you've always been the best for me. I will always hold you in very high regard for you being here for me, even though I haven't been the best at times. Thank you for listening and not judging, for making me smile just when I needed it the most. Merry Christmas and all the best to you.

Les Chansons d'Amour

I heard a song sung long ago
When stars were set in virgin snow,
And the bells that hung high above
Were still ringing;
But Christmas came and went away,
When Santa’s Elves came out to play—
Their fiddle tunes and dancing feet
Were all singing.

The song was sung throughout the land
And placed into a marching band,
That slaughtered in the battlefield
With it's stinging.
Their tune was played of passions note
That Lord above could not have wrote,
Or Venus harp upon the heart
Of men singing.

The notes were near a dismal dirge,
That made all jump with the urge
Of lovers touch, and sweetly kiss
With its bringing.
It played aloud in hearts of men
To cause the death or craze of them,
And made the poet sadly weep
With the singing.

The Heavens cried her tears of rain
While Lava spewed his heart of flame,
And Mountains feared their roots would fly
Without clinging;
The life of all was lost that day,
God wrote a sign: “Gone out to play”
The mother cried her tears of joy,
When she’s singing.

I wandered round the virgin snow
Set in gold, the bitter glow
Of sun-drop tears in murky eyes
Filled with stinging.
They cried for souls both torn apart—
When Cupids aim finds dreaded mark—
And cried for those who have shared
With Loves singing.