December's twilight, soft and gray
Twinkling lights, a festive sway
Christmas magic, all around
Yet, melancholy's gentle sound

Memories of laughter, young and free
Children's wonder, eyes aglow with glee
Reflecting on the tree's shining *****
A bittersweet reminder of life's fragile walls

Eleven winters past, a loss so true
My father's absence, felt anew
December's joy, now tinged with pain
A heart remembering love, and love in vain

In this season of sparkle and light
I search for wonder, a fleeting sight
A glimpse of childhood's untainted delight
A respite from sorrow, on this winter's night

My heart finds solace in the love that remains
Among the bittersweet feeling it still conveys
The softness of the season's lights eases the pain
Amid the merriment of others in these Christmas days.

I knew a witch once, of course she was a good witch, a white witch or so she said
Although I noticed if you ever ****** her off, she wouldn't be long turning into a Black witch
Suddenly she was going to use her power and put a spell on me and I'd be sorry
"Yeah, yeah, yeah", I thought, "there's always the scary mask, isn't there"
No matter where you go in this world
You go to a solicitor/ a Lawyer and they pull out all the legal jargon to bamboozle you with
You go to the Tax Office and it's all Taxspeak, they speak in a strange language all their own
They look human at first but then, then they pull on the scary mask
You go to church and it's all so called Godspeak from out of the Bible
They dress in fancy robes and speak down to you from a pulpit
And of course, the church is very big and well, you! you're very small
And the world likes people made small...the smaller the better
Yea! there's always the scary mask
But what about the human behind the mask
Where's the human that was... that was once a child.

Outside on the city streets the wail of sirens
But me! I'm not concerned
'Cos I got *****... ***** made of Iron
Yeah! ***** of Ire..Ron, ***** of I-Iron!!!🎵🎶🎵

Hey Mister I ain't a Boy and I ain't your Son
Me! I'm just a... I'm just an Angel without a gun.

When my oldest brother, Todd,
came back for my mom's funeral,
he had this light about him.
His face was a poem.
Sure, he was the oldest, and he
had a healthy-looking tan from the
hot New Mexico sun, working
outside with turquoise, silver,
and bear claws to make
jewelry for the tourists, but there
was more than that.

He was an artist, and all artists have
a fractured ease about things, but he
lit up.  Something from the inside
projected out.
He comforted everyone else, we leaned
on him.  His eyes oozed serenity.

A few calendars later, when I traveled
back for his funeral, I saw the same
look on a few of his friends' faces.
His wife told me after the service
that Todd had gotten sober years before.