Christmas Time

This is the season of the dying and the dead
The poorly fed and those that life misled,
Of keening dread and unheard screaming in their head
And suicide notes that go unread
This is the season of the dying and the dead
The names that no one knows
A nation’s blinded conscience painted red upon the snow.

Through unpulled curtains,
Yellow nets
Through sherry vodka and regrets
We watch a nation with its Christmas box –
Poptastic toss
And TV dross
And things designed to remind you of your loss

Stocking lines are shards of hope hung out to dry
Dreams are folded down to cards and enveloped
Posted and forgotten like the Christmas roast
Children’s smiles
Remind the childless of the mindless chance of life
Its idle dance while idols rise from circumstance

Don’t spare a thought for those
Who wake alone, turn on the lights alone
And watch TV and eat,
Put out the lights and go to sleep at night alone
And while they might be out of sight alone
You never ask if they’re all right alone
You just bemoan the family fights
And wish that you could spend one night alone
Watching Twilight alone
Well, quite alone,
It’s not like you’d like to share their plight alone.
Don’t spare a line at a slam or a rhyme
Or prayers to non-existent gods when the mass bells chime.
If you want to give.
If you want to stop the clocks
To put the slow tick tock of grown men’s loneliness in stocks
And let them live…


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