Christmas Really Isn't About Toys

Christmas Really Isn't About Toys
Christmas really isn't about toys,
However much we love them, young and old.
Reductions in the fat of Christmas day
In time restore its vigor and its health.
So let us not display our absent wealth,
Though children should have ample chance to play.
More sweet and joyous music must be sung,
And thoughts of peace and mercy make their way
Silent and uncluttered through the noise.
Cold Comfort in the Chastity of Sorrow
Cold comfort in the chastity of sorrow,
Having turned in pain towards innocence,
Reaching through the madness for the marrow,
Intent, for once, on yielding all pretence;
Sensing the necessity of love
Though feeling none but hunger well within,
Meaning nothing more than one might prove
As one finds little proof in death and sin:
So it was one night in Bethlehem.
Each of Us Might Follow a Bright Star
Each of us might follow a bright star,
Perhaps to a redemptive revelation,
Intending, then, to change the way things are,
Passionate to socialize salvation.
However, please beware of what you do:
Ambition, even selfless, can turn sour.
No truth fits all, though burning inside you,
Yearning less for paradise than power.
Each Year Again the Gifts Are Given Gladly
Each year again the gifts are given gladly,
Perhaps because one wants to be a gift.
In goods there can be good, yet sometimes, sadly,
People get the thing but not the drift.
How could the wise men come without a token,
A gift to give the child, new born a king?
Nor could their words speak as their gifts had spoken,
Yielding love incarnate in a thing.
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