christmas eve
has come
like many a year before
and as i sit
here in front of my
own shadows of
christmas past
i forge my own
christmas inbetween
my eyes.
has it been
told, or has it been
said there has never
been a whispered
word
outside the lines
of what we are
alone i sit again
waiting
for that own
special
miracle on
34th street
and by all means
lift up the carols
for at the end of the shadow
it’s still the same world.
