I met the devil at his table
and it's true what they say
He wears Prada and makes a toast
We got drunken, the liquor flowed
at the heart of his table
I don't need no permission
to read all his missions

Children are crying
and there is heeded war
Our money is worthless
watch the banks as they sink
as we are the slaves of time

I met the devil at his table
and I don't doubt his mist
of sour recognition of time
We just merried, but as seconds coiled
at the heart of his table
I don't need no permission
to read all his missions

Children are crying
and there is a heeded war
Our money is worthless
watch the banks as they sink
as we are slaves of time

Wake up, Wake up
Take up, Take up
Rise up, Rise up
the battle is yours

So this is what it feels like
to be a new person....
no one recognizes me
and I pass on by unnoticed,
what should I do to get everyone's attention
to make my old friends remember me again,
to be acknowledged and smiled at
but maybe....
it's just foolish selfishness!
because why should I need any acknowledgement
from any of them
because who said they were worthy of my knowledge,
who said they should even matter,
I can determine that myself
I don't need to listen to what others think
the rules and standards they set, the expectations they ensure,
who ever gave them the right
to take control of my life,
my smiles,
my knowledge,
my actions
my soul,
my universal being,
when they did they ever have that right
to act like my life
was just another one of theirs?
the answer is simple:
never.

Another teary Christmas Eve just passes,
as she watches the world,
some soon hold dear Christmas masses,
through her cars side window,
as the cold air just stirs,
& the engine just purrs,
on down roads she's been down too many times,
as church bells again chime,

In darkest slate blue and grey streaked skies,
against a stark white cloudscape
across her glassy mirrored eyes,

Her eyes fill as she remembers,
the argument before dinner,
& then after,
and there is never really a "winner",

She's not ever comprehending,
the why???

Back home,
& living a lie,
sitting at her stool,
her head in her hand,
& she feels such a fool,
her feet and mind exhausted,
she's emotionally drained,

Things are more than just strained,
her heart more than just pained,

Then he hears her voice CRACK
though doesn't acknowledge her pain
he gently stokes the fire,
she cries alone,
in vain,
but he is not stoking theirs,

He let that die out a while ago,
as if he couldn't care,
& she knows she should go,
still she doesn't dare,
& she doesn't seem to know,

How???

As another tear
                             D
                                 R
                                   O
                                       P
F
   a
      l
        l
          s
           plays on the radio,

She sits in silent sadness,
this is her teary Christmas,
when others surrounded by gladness,

How many melancholic Christmases,
that she just drowns in,
must she endure???

The elusive happiness she once knew,

Left right along there with you.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Happy  Xmas. Everyone.
And  best  wishes
for  the  New  Year.
Many  thanks  for  all  your  support.
Take  care.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.