I’m trying to chase a will o’ the wisp through the marshy moors of my mind

This thing called “Christmas Spirit” seems a gift quite hard to find

The festive decorations and the bright reflective lights

Try hard at coaxing sluggish soul to embrace the season’s sights.

Yet all this year the months and days have sapped my inner joy

Left to shop the internet, just another marketing ploy.

Smiling faces hidden by our colored mask’s disguise

Emotions not so easily read through cautious, wary eyes.

Traditions, from my memories of Christmas in the past,

Now seem as ghostly images like the shadows smoke might cast.

The joy that once was uncontained now seems quite bottled up

Its contents pour as drips and drops into my empty cup.

I hope that joy and happiness can someday, again, be found

And Christmas time in years to come won’t be sold by the pound.

I’ll try to shield life’s candle flame from sickness’ sour storm

And hope that this year’s Christmas doesn’t turn into new norm.

By James Geehring

From: United States

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