Christmas Eve

How is it her absence

is stronger, at time,

than her presence?

She is

a melody recalled

in silence;

a memory enthralled

with being remembered.

The anticipation of December.

A lover waiting

for her kindred's call.

She is

a love letter in transit.

The coming breath

that keeps you alive,

the cure

you never thought you needed.

The tears

tomorrow cried.

She is

my tendency to love;

my inclination

for a kiss.

She's Christmas Eve...

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Starward's picture

As a child, I was fascinated

As a child, I was fascinated how Christmas---Eve and Day---was so excitedly anticipated in early Autumn, and was so poignantly missed or regretted into late January.  This poem spoke to those memories quite eloquently.


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