Memorial

deep in darkness, paper-thin

is red-green winter glass

buried beneath old memories

that breathe of love and light. 

it smells of life still vivid and deep

of holidays long ago

though covered in dust and left alone

it shines with fragile joy.

an eye brought close could see

great stories glowing there

it's loud, it's soft, it's full and free

of life behind the glass.

it tells of gifts and muttered songs

around a winter tree

of socks and sweets and paper-shreds

around the children's feet.

they scream, they laugh, then run to play

with precious things they found

delivered to them-- from whom, who knows?

a secret just some know. 

the children leave, their lives go on

without the ball of glass

it's packed away and left to rest

in a corner of negligence. 

shadows creep and memories die

but the ball of glass lives on

forgotten, in hiding-- but shining still

a light of Christmas past.

 

 

 

 

 

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