The Box

The Box

The months roll round too quickly
Only seems like yesterday
Time's river rushes, frothed and white
Too a Christmas far away
A bookend to an abstract year
A beginning and an end
The inbetween, what could have been
Which now, we comprehend
As trees go up, in halls so decked
With holly, tinsel , lights
brightening as dark draws in
To compensate for nights
Nights drawn out, we illustrate
Frustrated fell desires
Where sane plot points were led astray
With logic burnt in fires
Tomes of knowledge, turned to ash
Irrational, flames burn
Bathwater, babies? Both were trashed
Yet still the pages turn
Even with some key parts gone
Just taken from the play
Characters whose light has shone
… who still could guide a way
To futures with both wants and needs
Distinguished, set apart
A path to soothe the angered souls
Appease both mind and heart
As months roll round too quickly
Some wants we must concede
I hope the box beneath the tree
Has all the things you need