Then so the city streets are filled - With faceless people that anonymity is their name.
Thus cold is the compassion which strolls these hallowed halls,
warmed only by the glow of holiday lights lung low.
that as misfortune steps from shadows
- It scurries away.
Yet winter wind is indiscriminate -
Cruel that its icy touch cuts chillingly to the bone.
Thus what delight is found in the delirium of the falling snow
might simply be another’s misfortune of madness.
Still she bears her burden well, and yet
- She hears voices.
She cries into her mothers shoulder
for she is not but a moppet of rags and whispers.
“Mummy it’s so cold, how much further until we are home?”
“Hush child.” She comforts. “I can see the light.”
Tears of expectation escapes the child’s
- Black button eyes.
Thus she pushes unwaveringly on.
Onward through the crowds of faceless people,
always clutching the warmth of her child closer to her heart.
Down streets with no name that even as the snow
gathers binding the wheels of her life she
- Follows the light.
Past peep shows and soup kitchens
Where they stand pounding out words of salvation.
Jesus loves you, repent. The end is near, repent. Jesus saves,
open twenty-four hours for your viewing pleasure.
Voices, voices voices she hears voices
- “Mum. I’m cold.”
“I know child… We’re almost home.”
“Mummy, would you tell me a story?” She pleads.
Nestling the child deeper into the tatters of her coat she began
“Once there was a little princess just like you…”
touching her ragamuffin upon the
- Stitch of her nose.
“Ooh...” The child cooed attentively
as she blinked her button eyes in wonderment.
“She lived in a tower of height wrapped in thistles and thorns,
and yet the tower was so tall that it pierced the
clouds of her hopes and dreams.”
- “Ooh Mummy...”
She coddled the child with warmth.
“Thus realizing her dreamings had come true
she stepped out onto the feathery whiteness just as we are now
finding her way home to live happily ever after.”
Thus warmed the child smiled a little
- Stitch of a smile.
“That was a wonderful story Mummy.”
“Why thank you dear, as you are everything to me.”
Then as she wrapped her snow laden shawl around the child
a tear froze in her eye. “I’m cold Mummy, so cold.”
“Hush now and sleep, were almost home.”
- “I loves you Mum.”
Unnoticed she turns into an alleyway,
the boys are making holiday spirits in the back,
singing carols they are warmed by rum and burning rubbish.
Sinking behind shelter blending into the shadows
she coddles her only possession and
- Dreams of angels.
Thus day breaks with its blinding light
as the spirit is only now beginning to awaken.
Children flock to the hills with their new found sleds anxious
to be the first that breaks the new fallen snow
while others wandering from shelter
- Remain faceless.
“Look Mummy! Someone has lost a doll!
Can we keep her Mummy? Can we can we please?
Awwwww poor thing. She is all wet and cold and has lost an eye.
Will she be ok Mummy? Can you fix her Mummy?
Can we take her home Mum, can we?”
- “Hush child…”
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003
Thus cold is the compassion which strolls these hallowed halls,
warmed only by the glow of holiday lights lung low.
that as misfortune steps from shadows
- It scurries away.
Yet winter wind is indiscriminate -
Cruel that its icy touch cuts chillingly to the bone.
Thus what delight is found in the delirium of the falling snow
might simply be another’s misfortune of madness.
Still she bears her burden well, and yet
- She hears voices.
She cries into her mothers shoulder
for she is not but a moppet of rags and whispers.
“Mummy it’s so cold, how much further until we are home?”
“Hush child.” She comforts. “I can see the light.”
Tears of expectation escapes the child’s
- Black button eyes.
Thus she pushes unwaveringly on.
Onward through the crowds of faceless people,
always clutching the warmth of her child closer to her heart.
Down streets with no name that even as the snow
gathers binding the wheels of her life she
- Follows the light.
Past peep shows and soup kitchens
Where they stand pounding out words of salvation.
Jesus loves you, repent. The end is near, repent. Jesus saves,
open twenty-four hours for your viewing pleasure.
Voices, voices voices she hears voices
- “Mum. I’m cold.”
“I know child… We’re almost home.”
“Mummy, would you tell me a story?” She pleads.
Nestling the child deeper into the tatters of her coat she began
“Once there was a little princess just like you…”
touching her ragamuffin upon the
- Stitch of her nose.
“Ooh...” The child cooed attentively
as she blinked her button eyes in wonderment.
“She lived in a tower of height wrapped in thistles and thorns,
and yet the tower was so tall that it pierced the
clouds of her hopes and dreams.”
- “Ooh Mummy...”
She coddled the child with warmth.
“Thus realizing her dreamings had come true
she stepped out onto the feathery whiteness just as we are now
finding her way home to live happily ever after.”
Thus warmed the child smiled a little
- Stitch of a smile.
“That was a wonderful story Mummy.”
“Why thank you dear, as you are everything to me.”
Then as she wrapped her snow laden shawl around the child
a tear froze in her eye. “I’m cold Mummy, so cold.”
“Hush now and sleep, were almost home.”
- “I loves you Mum.”
Unnoticed she turns into an alleyway,
the boys are making holiday spirits in the back,
singing carols they are warmed by rum and burning rubbish.
Sinking behind shelter blending into the shadows
she coddles her only possession and
- Dreams of angels.
Thus day breaks with its blinding light
as the spirit is only now beginning to awaken.
Children flock to the hills with their new found sleds anxious
to be the first that breaks the new fallen snow
while others wandering from shelter
- Remain faceless.
“Look Mummy! Someone has lost a doll!
Can we keep her Mummy? Can we can we please?
Awwwww poor thing. She is all wet and cold and has lost an eye.
Will she be ok Mummy? Can you fix her Mummy?
Can we take her home Mum, can we?”
- “Hush child…”
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003
No comments:
Post a Comment