A Christmas poem between two worlds

Through streetlamp pools,

and snowflake swarms,

glide numb and frigid feet.

Green glow of yule,

red blossom bows,

warm carols ringing sweet.

Just off the main,

down alleys dark,

the burg’s forgotten souls

lie huddled in

their wraps too thin,

adrift in tides of cold.

No shopping rush,

no trimming scene,

no pageant breaks the drone.

But steady howl

and longest night

creep closer to the bone.

Joy to the World

belongs to those

tucked inside chapel doors,

away from grime,

stiff matted hair,

and seeping, stinking sores.

Yet hope resides

in kettle plinks,

those heralds of goodwill.

Word spreads the news

of place and time

where one may have their fill.

The morn arrives,

the kind hearts flock

to set the feast in place.

Two strange worlds meet

o’er tables full

for first time face to face.

Let not those eyes

escape our minds

so often hid from sight;

take them with you

as you head home;

think of them christmas night.

Freelance Writer/Blogger/Editor, veteran, Top Rated on Upwork, former Medium Top Writer in Humor, Feminism, Culture, Sports, NFL, etc.

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