This time of year makes it particularly hard,
as light shines toward war but
war responds shooting darkness
and winds send sand to
parade around Westminster,
covering a dream called Abbey
who only ever wanted peace.
Oslo bulbs, Bethlehem flashes Albert,
it goes around and comes
around the family-birth, stable-ideal idea -
will do for aeons to come.
Fleeing could be advisable, but
are you hooked on the human story?
Can any of us claim we are not
whilst searching to slurp another cold
Persecuted Christ-Love from a pressed paper cup,
patronising a chain only children like?
"FOLLOW HARDER!" barks the tweet robot.
"Love happiness," I sang once.
Some listened to it on YouTube, royalties subverted.
Spread the love thick on all breakfasts' toasts,
wherever Christmas trees appear,
wherever oxygen is breathd and,
whether you can see it or not,
replace curse with cure,
a chanty mantra naturally rooting.
Hope today! Tomorrow's sales will cash in on
supposed thankful Yankee candle
light reduced. Though today's a small part
of nothing in the universe,
I wish you a very happy Prospectmas.