Christmas

Dead leaves

Dead deeds

Echo in the moonlight

Frostbite

Counting the days

Til Christmas

Hope remains

Despite the stains

Past regrets

Nothing lets me forget

A second of peace

Lies lovely in my memory,

Glances at me in the mirror.

Have mercy

On my tortured mind,

The sound behind

Pierces my soul

I feel the grind

Of hell’s watchthings

Preying on what they find

At the bottom

Of the wishing well.

The smell of fear

Envelops my body.

Count the days…

Til Christmas.

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Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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