December Visions Yet to Come

In a glen draped in winter's shawl, where the whispering pines guard sleep 

Drowsy branches creak and sway in the cold moonlight of a creek.  
A spectre draped in tattered shrouds moves through the midnight aire,
With hollow eyes that pierce the soul, a gaze both cold and bare.

The chimney stirs with whispers lost,
Memories flicker in dying light,
Each ember's ghost, a heavy cost
Born entrenched in an endless night.

Oh, flicker, oh, dance, sweet fire of yore,
Revive the echoes of laughter's chime,
Yet here I stand, in this silent war
Missing this love of mine.

Gaily wrapped in ribbons, the gifts once sought with glee,

Lie scattered in forgotten rooms, like tales lost to the sea. 
The old ornaments hang askew, and their colours are dulled with age,
Each shimmering remembrance of reflection, 
Lulls this breath away 

A twisted wreath, upon the door, of thorns and withered vine,

A gruesome welcome, evermore, a testament to the passing time.
A distorted, warped, mockery of holly’s festive grace,
A chilling omen, one could see—draped on a pallid face. 

The Christmas tree, a skeletal frame, adorned with bones so white,

A morbid dance, a gruesome game—plays out upon this night. 
Its star atop, a fractured shard, its glass, both cold and keen, 
A silent scream, unheard, unmarred, a ghastly gaunt'd thing. 

The stockings hung, not plump and full, 
With gifts and treats galore, 
But empty husks, a ghastly pull, 
Over the folktales that came afore

Tephren sighs, site ghostly dreams,
Curling in frigid aire
What was once ignited in passion's beam,
Lingers still in a haunting stare.

A shadowed figure, drab and tall, emerged from a lonely space,

Its spectral presence holding thrall, with an icy, hollow fate. 
Its eyes of coal, burning low, reflect this shadow'd pain,
A whispered promise, soft and slow, of torment and of rain –

Torrentrial tears, a frozen stream, morose and with regret,

A chilling climax, a cruel scene, of a future one cannot forget.

The clock strikes twelve, at the final chime, a death knell, oh, despair,

Too late for warnings, as its muteness stands 

Looming beyond all hope and prayer

The feast untouched, the table bare: a symbol of the void
A silent scream, a chilling fill, a future unalloyed

Without happiness, without laughter’s sound, with love and joy forgone
A barren wasteland all around, in the trails I spiralled down

Each reflecting a dreadful light with the sorrow that it brings.
The spirit of Christmas long since gone

Throughout the coming year.
Seeing through the smoke, the face that made my dreams.
A memory I once loved with life, dimming with every blink.

It's getting closer

I wish you could have known her

It's hard to write this all out

when its future was set in stone.