I should write tonight, but I do not feel it
I am always sad on Christmas Eve
Enshrouded in dirty rags
as I am
You would think I would rejoice
but I am not happy this time of year
even though the crisp air
and shallow but genuine good will
are a tonic to the spirit
the chalice of the soul
is crenelated and care worn
the palms of a million devotees
could not make a more sorrowful luster
than the patina adorning the ancient incorporeal skiff
I will someday pilot across the eternal sea
But a joy has been given to me
salvation has been given me
a giddy gracious gift to
me,
but I can't seem to shake this melancholy of the holy days
awash in love and grace
and I am still aware of my existetial singularity
thank God for His grace
Christ for His long suffering
the holy Spirit for His comforting
for I am in need of them all and all that they bear for me
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