Sol Invictus

I will never ask for trappings hung

in garish contrast,

or excesses filled to overflowing,

while Mephistopheles patiently bides his time,

waiting to collect the debt.

I will never mistake shock at wanton gaudiness for wonder

or mislabel indignant, misanthropic trinkets as favour.

For rare and rarer still ,

are the times spent reminiscing with old men,

while aromas of spices and roast meat

fill a home that has no corner

left undiscovered by tiny eyes.

 

For with each succeeding generation

the politics of the day

bear ill-tidings, misshapen and inbred

and call them by familiar names,

“Care” and “Charity” and “Hope”.

Yet, the Spirit lives.

For many are called to shed that warm hearth for service.

Behind badge, or smock or helmet, they answer the call.

Sea and air and land do stay protected;

while we open another bottle,

fill our plate with a second helping

and tuck in sleepy children

whose eyes have beheld their wildest dreams incarnate.

 

I will never forget that tiny babe,

nor that manger scene,

that saved us from the world

on bloody Calvary.

Likewise I will never forget

a child’s Christmas morning,

discovering that love and wonder

were tangible things, able to be made manifest.

With the turning of the year,

we celebrate victory;

The Son over the world,

we over ourselves.

For renewing our fortitude,

a better time there has never been.

 

So, I will not allow my spirit

to be misled by the foxes and the owls.

Nor shall hawkers, shamans, or charlatans

part me from my past with false traditions.

I, for one, will hold to something simple

and strip these tawdry baubles from my mantle,

and sit and talk and share of my brief time.

I have no more precious gift than my presence,

I receive no greater gift in kind.

 

HG -2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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