Withered Grief (Perhaps)

Withered trees in the cruel taunts of mind

Sadness is exhaled like air

“Set-off easy”  

But you would too if you were me

The Christmas lights look grey

Dawn turns to day

I turn to hear you say

[silence]

[silence]

[silence]

It seems it’s just me among the trees

Sometimes I hate Christmas

And as a Christian I’m not supposed to do that

I want to backspace and erase

But my heart leaps in pain seeing written words ring out with truth

Hate is probably a strong word, perhaps let’s go with bitter

Bitter is probably a strong word, perhaps let’s go with ache

I remember waking up on Christmas morning and running to the gifts

It was probably 6am and the house was dark

My mother heard of course

She satisfied my excitement and we began opening gifts

I remember waking up excited

I remember always decorating the tree together

Stringing up the lights

Placing the ornaments we collected over the years

My father was there of course

He sat silently smiling, disengaged as always

I remember the Christmas morning you weren’t there

I remember when they didn’t wait to decorate the tree

I remember the gift waiting from you

I remember stringing up the lights

I remember waking up excited

I remember you

I remember

Tears

[silence]

[silence]

[silence]

Somehow

[I]

     [must]

                [move]

         [on]

Hate - bitter - ache

These emotions swell knowing full well why

Without regard for a man made day

Sometimes I love Christmas

And as a Christian I’m supposed to do that

Perhaps love is a strong word

But so is hate

I feel so alone in my contrasting emotions

Even though there are many around

And I wish the grief in this season would stop

And I wish I could backspace and erase

[The moment I saw your body]

[The moment you weren’t there on Christmas day]

So, withered trees in the cruel taunts of mind bring out radiant cracks of Light

And I’m struck

That God sent His son for me

Jesus cried out in pleas

He knew what it was to suffer

God knew what it was to lose

We have man made Christmas in an arrangement to fit ourselves and ideals (perhaps)

But God sent His son down so that I could heal 

So sometimes I hate Christmas, but I don’t hate God

And sometimes I hate the things that have happened.

Maybe hate isn’t a strong word

Because you probably would too if you were me