A continuing calvary
At this turning of the year
We confront an unholy nexus of fear,
Solstice: the apex of the year,
ride the crest of a wave of darkness
The drunkard's Christmas kiss
As the sun squats on the horizon
Of his squandered life
Fear you can cut it with a knife
transforms the frosty night owls of winter
Into a travesty of this lack of light.
Beneath this peak of dark
lies the slough of depair
the trough of light
and beneath the pinnacle of death
we forget our restless ordinary lives.
The acme of our dreams
or so it seems.
I want to create the stature of a winter-stripped of all pretence
A winter without end
an apex of divorce, alcoholism, violence, strife,
Children left alone, bereft of hope,
an overwhelming apogee of regret,
and the sudden flowering of forgiveness.
The brow of this hill of Calvary.
Is the very cusp of our salvation
where we see the skull beneath the skin
built upon a crown of thorns: composed of his blood, his agony.
At the vertex and summit and pitch of sacrifice
We fall again beneath the spell of this turning of the year
A baby born in occupied Palestine,
A place of terror and fear,
sleeps peacefully, in a stable.
So close, so far, so near.