Gifts are irrelevant
or money spent
the best were bad,
convoluted, sad.
I can’t remember happiness
perhaps it never did exist.
What then propels me to,
string lights of red and green and blue,
wrap empty boxes and present
a tableau of the soul, content?
What is it that I seek,
the magic, spirit, sweet mystique?
The scent of spruce, spice and pine,
anothers memories, not mine
find joy in sparkle, glitter, glitz.
If only all were so easily fixed,
shattered souls and bodies, too,
brightly wrapped, patched with glue,
healed by glowing lights
that illuminate the dark nights;
by reindeer prancing, candy canes,
snowflakes in festooned windowpanes.
When all is packed away again
what is it that I miss then??
The journey of anticipation,
midnights cerulean; Expectation!
Silver trophy winner
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