The greats flame out in the fire of their own passions.
They burn like scintillating firecrackers against the dark.

From a distance, you feel lucky to witness such incandescence.
But the brightest brilliance burns through the feedstock of dry rot.

That Jello plate was pain, that half-bitten sandwich pain,
that drunken urinating a barely concealed cri de cœur.

Totally tubular fiction yup,
nevertheless I reflect
the year (arbitrarily plucked from misty past)
Santa Claus did not show up
courtesy imagination license
cruel as crippled poet pan handler
rattling his empty cup.

Though blink of time passed rather quick,
I still vividly recollect
midnight passed upon Christmas Eve
(circa December 24th, 2005)
with nary a ** ** ** from jolly Saint Nick,
nor sound of sleigh bells
no reindeer with packages he did not heave
omitting hurling gifts at 1148 Greentree Lane
as some cruel and nasty trick,
which prompted both progent

particularly youngest daughter did grieve
great disappointment absent merriment,
and surprises he would ordinarily flick,
whereby mystical magical tour would
burst with brilliance
like Jack Nimble's candlestick
spurred affirmation
analogous to brick
slamming into me noggin
in his presence to believe.

Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer,
*****, Comet, Cupid and Blitzen
ordinarily light up anticipation,
instigating ear to ear grin
(especially provoking clattering hooves)
courtesy, exponentially, and factorially
heightened expectation generated,
viz foray into dark night sky
becoming brightest visible object
creating an audible, yet pleasant din

gracefully amazing this hypothetical papa,
would ordinarily deliver merriment well nigh
accept he forgot one important stop
perhaps trouble with cloven hoofed creatures
hmm... maybe lack of of feedstock
found precious priceless lass
with downcast chin,
and teardrops falling
heavily from each eye
inducing sharp pains

within this then mister mom
once a year self anointed secret santa
analogous feeling skin
pierced with sharp pin
most times one generally
happy go lucky guy,
whose heavy sinking heart
professing love (mine) could not win
reverberated hollow grief
as if Cupid's paramour made of tin.

I tried with futility to assuage melancholy
when Shayna Punim
(Yiddish פּנים ponem, from Hebrew פָּנִים panim)
(endearment for pretty face),
she did melancholically ask why
her mood cast dark shadows
across edge of night
(evoking artificial intelligent
graphic generated augmented
computer special effect)
as webbed, wide world

within outer limits of twilight zone did spin
along axis in gulf of infinite space
with lighting speed, he would punctually fly
no explanation suitable i.e.
from Kris Kringle pinch hitter
(alias yours truly),
since no where seen heft sack
of goodies makes supreme father pitiful sight
off his pedestal like
force of gravity impossible to defy
Humpty Dumpty myth I did belie.