A Holy Season
.
It is a holy season.
Cruel winds
shrill at the corners
scrub my face raw.
I hear a choir
dying in every gust.
.
It is a holy season.
Ragged chanting
from the perennial faithful
to celebrate birth.
.
It is a holy season.
Merciless children
torment the purses
of betrayed mothers,
extracting promises
like teeth.
.
It is a holy season.
Her head rests
blind
on my shoulder
leaking tears.
Her dead breath
is captured
in my curls.
.
It is a holy season.
I will undress it,
blue-fingered torture
from collar
to spine.
.
It is a holy season.
Licking thin lips
fresh with the taste
of salt and blood.
.
It is a holy season.
The meek
dream of inheritance
while the mighty
steal the shirts
from their backs.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Written during a bitter winter long ago when I lost my heart, my words, and the last tattered remnants of faith – in religion, in politics, in big business. In the time since I wrote this the rich have become far richer all over the world. And much more skilled at lying, cheating, bullying and stealing. Hence Trump.
It has become a ritual for me to post this every year. An antidote to the commercialism and tacky sentimentality that the season swims in.
photograph borrowed from diginoobsi
missameliaandsir
December 24, 2017 at 7:47 pm
Breathless. 💋
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House of Heart
December 24, 2017 at 7:58 pm
Thank you for the beautifully eloquent gift of expression over the years Mr. D. It has been a pleasure reading the fine gentleman and poet that you are.
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Romantic Dominant
December 24, 2017 at 11:37 pm
You are far too generous and kind Ms. H. Your words and your art are unique.
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House of Heart
December 25, 2017 at 12:59 am
Thank you Mr D. Sending smiles.
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Romantic Dominant
December 25, 2017 at 11:03 am
Smiles.
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riambra
December 24, 2017 at 10:43 pm
Get Outlook for Android
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