White Christmas

A seasonal poem with a little twist.

White Christmas

They said it wouldn’t happen
this Christmas wouldn’t be white
but I can feel that cold, crisp chill
as I tiptoe through the night.

A soft kiss lands upon my cheek
another on my nose
a cold and sparkling, sliding kiss
that drops to pinch my toes.

Those intricate kisses flurry
they swish and swirl around
I begin to feel my footsteps crunch
in the whiteness covering the ground.

I lift my hand to shield my eyes
as suddenly from afar
a light takes over the darkness
a light from a shining star.

I’ve never seen such beauty
nothing quite so bright
a warmth I’ve never before known
envelopes me this Christmas Eve night.

A faint, sweet music reaches my ears
I smile, and spin, and dance
bells ring as all around me
tiny white ladies prance.

A soft, kind voice calls out my name
I flutter my glistening lashes
the star draws nearer, so very bright
as people throw up their sashes.

‘Can you not see that star above?’
I call, but nobody listens.
‘Do you not hear those sweet, sharp bells,
or see the snow that glistens?’

But, the bells become a siren
the snow begins to disappear
again a voice calls to me,
but I feel a touch of fear.

I dare to look behind me
I see myself on the ground
a thin blanket on my body
cardboard boxes all around.

A blue light spins and flashes.
‘She’s gone,’ I hear them say.
‘There were no beds at the shelter.
They were full to bursting today.’

I crouch and see a tiny smile
upon my frozen face,
I look around at those left still
in this dark and lonely place

There’s people all around me…
Oh yes, they see me now.
I’m quite alright with leaving
I feel at peace somehow.

I turn and head towards the light
the star that’s come for me
that offers warmth and comfort
no more pain or misery.

I step into the brightness
and take an outstretched hand
my soul feels light and welcomed
as, with a sense of pride, I stand.

 

About the author

Catehayes
1664 Up Votes
I'm a mother of four fantastic children (three grown up now) I took up writing again as I became disabled after a paralysing illness and needed a focus. I like to draw and paint to keep my hands busy and moving, and writing keeps my brain cells stretched, keeping the old cogs working. Of course it also keeps me out of mischief. Much love Cate

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