Silver Angels, with golden wings, * *
* wrapped in tissue, with other things. * *
Stockings, hand knit, by my Grandmother,
* * folded neatly away, one atop the other.
*
Favorite ornaments, growing old and brittle, * *
that were hung, each year, when I was little. * *
A faded Nutcracker, that by the door, stood guard.
* * A lighted Santa, that would always grace our yard.
*
All, left alone, in the attic this year. * *
To look upon them, only brings dry tears. * *
The very act, just...takes away my breath.
* * There is no joy. In fact, there's nothing left.
*
There will be no twinkle lights on the mantle. * *
No evergreens, fragrant and ornamental. * *
The radio will be silent, the baking oven cold.
* * No Holiday spirit, in my heart can I hold.
*
Just this deep, defeated feel. * *
A sadness that invaded, refusing to heal. * *
Grandchildren will call, their excitement clear.
* * In their hearts, they hold the Holiday cheer.
*
I'll have my mask, firmly in place. * *
I'll answer and question them all, with false grace. * *
Then as I hang up the phone on the wall,
* * I'll turn away, as though nothing happened at all.
*
Seeing these things, listed here, in print. * *
Just leaves me numb. No emotions were spent. * *
So, I will continue, in this life that I live.
* * Like a dried Christmas tree, with nothing left to give.
*
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 6:20 PM UTC
Silver Angels, with golden wings, * *
* wrapped in tissue, with other things. * *
Stockings, hand knit, by my Grandmother,
* * folded neatly away, one atop the other.
*
Favorite ornaments, growing old and brittle, * *
that were hung, each year, when I was little. * *
A faded Nutcracker, that by the door, stood guard.
* * A lighted Santa, that would always grace our yard.
*
All, left alone, in the attic this year. * *
To look upon them, only brings dry tears. * *
The very act, just...takes away my breath.
* * There is no joy. In fact, there's nothing left.
*
There will be no twinkle lights on the mantle. * *
No evergreens, fragrant and ornamental. * *
The radio will be silent, the baking oven cold.
* * No Holiday spirit, in my heart can I hold.
*
Just this deep, defeated feel. * *
A sadness that invaded, refusing to heal. * *
Grandchildren will call, their excitement clear.
* * In their hearts, they hold the Holiday cheer.
*
I'll have my mask, firmly in place. * *
I'll answer and question them all, with false grace. * *
Then as I hang up the phone on the wall,
* * I'll turn away, as though nothing happened at all.
*
Seeing these things, listed here, in print. * *
Just leaves me numb. No emotions were spent. * *
So, I will continue, in this life that I live.
* * Like a dried Christmas tree, with nothing left to give.
*
I live within these dead emotions. They prey upon me daily. I can laugh on cue and show a smile. But they are just shadows of my former self.
Request permission to use this poem