He hunches on the pavement,
The wind, a cruel hard bite -
He slumps down ever further
Alone, this Christmas night.
Piano plays, the gold fire quivers,
Joy, laughter, a halo of care –
Presents opened, smiles wide
The moon outside, an icy glare.
Enfolding his fading glow of warmth,
Trembling, his eyelids flicker.
The candle inside burns out -
Death comes quicker.
Red, gold, silver, green,
These are the colours of the Christmas tree,
Now we sleep, cosy, warm –
But I toss and turn, mind torn.
Slipping further, losing his grip,
The lights are off, the night is here,
A mound of rubbish, forgotten so soon.
The stench of liquor fills the air.
I rise, and walk to my window,
I cannot concentrate –
Something’s wrong – what have I done?
Is this choice or fate?
He grasps out through the moonlight –
An orb high in the sky,
This could be his sanctuary –
A new home, but why try?
I pad out in my dressing gown,
The cold and freezing air,
Punctures my comfy feelings –
But who is there to care –
For he who is now hanging,
Held up by a thread,
The thread of one lone person
Who didn’t want him dead.
I reach to him, hand outstretched,
he does not meet my eye,
for all is lost, this Christmas night
With him, my hopes now die.
He hunches on the pavement,
The wind – a cruel hard bite,
He can’t slump any further,
Alone this Christmas night.
So as you celebrate the 25th,
Reserve a moment or two,
For all the people alone that day,
Think of them, not you.
copyright @beawood
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