Lights don't shine as bright this year,
The star atop the tree has faded,
Branches fall haphazardly,
Revealing holes, like the ones you've left behind.
Presents lay unwrapped,
As though they've been forgotten,
Casualties of sadness,
Bandaged in ribbons of indifference.
Icicles painted on her eyes,
Whisper of the winter outside,
The only sign of the giving season,
Loneliness her only gift.
Carolers echo empty sentiments,
In fallen angelic voices,
That pierce her ears,
Like a hot knife through cold butter.
The ache arisen, cries for sleep,
Dreams of days when old Saint Nick,
Hurried down chimneys,
With his big, red bag of wishes.
