Dear Reader, It’s Nearly Christmas

Here’s my holiday card, a sonnet I wrote this morning.  Though I’ve bastardized the form, I’m hoping it’s the sentiment that counts.

At this window on a high numbered floor,

cars seem pieces moved by a concealed hand.

The absent gates open, and cars lurch on,

onto the next gate closing with red light.

They’re like the days, marked by what awaits,

what’s passed—anticipation, forgetfulness

merged. We want the world to stop and it won’t.

Our days won’t abide such calm in these times.

Friday is Christmas.  The occasion looms

and every box hides another gesture

intended to arrest our attention.

I wish each gift, if just for a moment,

could block our moving on. I pray for the hope

and peace our hearts—awaiting the day—still hold.

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Filed under Christmas, Experiments, life, Meditations, Poetry, Thoughts, Urban Life

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