Instead of brooding over
The blackness of a light
That tenderly brightens
As the sheer warmth thickens
When you hug each other
I should think this is right:
I should delve in the kiss
Of the winter season
Rebel against my skin
We humans, all akin
I should seal my reason
In this holiday bliss…
But without a shelter
Without a clean cover
Not just a mere lover
How could I then not wish
For my ordeal to be over?
My pleas rush like a swish!
You plead about people
You’ve lost to wars and crimes
You could still when injured
Hurry to your white hall
Me, I just have my rhymes
But you call me perjured!
I will walk wild and weak
To the summits of time
With nothing but a dime
To see on top of all this love
You have deemed bleak.
The velvets of the glove
This lady in her shawl
Touches to her forearms
If I knock do you believe
She would hand me a bowl
Of this Christmas cold eve
My home her humble arms?
Lonely lunatic child
In the gleam of the moon
Oh! I hope she will soon
In her lenient linens
Open to the pure wild
Ness of my night silence
For a piece of this bread
I would tell her my world…
But she leaves satisfied
In the laughs of her thread:
To me demystified
Her dreams I can’t afford.
December 25, 2015
1:06 am
Libourne, France
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Instead of brooding over
The blackness of a light
That tenderly brightens
As the sheer warmth thickens
When you hug each other
I should think this is right:
I should delve in the kiss
Of the winter season
Rebel against my skin
We humans, all akin
I should seal my reason
In this holiday bliss…
But without a shelter
Without a clean cover
Not just a mere lover
How could I then not wish
For my ordeal to be over?
My pleas rush like a swish!
You plead about people
You’ve lost to wars and crimes
You could still when injured
Hurry to your white hall
Me, I just have my rhymes
But you call me perjured!
I will walk wild and weak
To the summits of time
With nothing but a dime
To see on top of all this love
You have deemed bleak.
The velvets of the glove
This lady in her shawl
Touches to her forearms
If I knock do you believe
She would hand me a bowl
Of this Christmas cold eve
My home her humble arms?
Lonely lunatic child
In the gleam of the moon
Oh! I hope she will soon
In her lenient linens
Open to the pure wild
Ness of my night silence
For a piece of this bread
I would tell her my world…
But she leaves satisfied
In the laughs of her thread:
To me demystified
Her dreams I can’t afford.
December 25, 2015
1:06 am
Libourne, France
Written for those who stay outside on Christmas Eve and Day
