A Christmas Poem

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We live in a world, where shoulders crash
To caress safety havens, the quenched
Feel of brother or sister, in that moment
You feel gravity escaping you.

And still, we live for the goodness of others,
The Jesus syndrome that you find in rare places
Forming local infections, that twinkle
Like a star on the night sky

And we come out of our homes
Searching for connections, the carpooling
The mall coffees, the church gatherings,
Anything to say you’re not alone in this world

And we counter, a lawless benevolence
Where altruism is the ore of a mine
Where the heart miner works,
To strike gold – the human touch

And all we have at the end, is us for us,
We are all, mutineers inside,
Searching for the true meaning of life,
Conscious that we have recyclable souls,
And given a body suit, as form

And in this world, of spin doctors
They weave the tapestry, of a flimsy garment
Love, that feeling, that subdued, clamped
Emotion, that breaks open through anatomies,
And fosters the beautifully labile

The breathtakingly transparent,
The catastrophically honest, the wounds
Our shoulders tend to become, deprived of touch,
And the home remedies that we possess
To seal the wounds, and the forensic

Articulation of tactile receptors,
That welcomes another surface, to an interface,
Loitering, trespassing, encroaching
Of how much terrain needs to be eclipsed,
To subdue our yearning to belong,

And we are all little drummer boys,
Playing our hearts, called to be part of a miracle,

The nativity of love.

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