Seemed apt for the season...


1. -

December. The bitterness of winter is cold;

Yet, in my mind, a war is raging ablaze;

And the two armies are getting tired, getting old.

Remember. Enough memories to craze.

Too many experiences, recollection is hard;

Like menacing ice causing crashes and slips.

Yet to recollect I regret, it pierces like a shard

Of glass. A broken stalagmite buried between my lips.


That fire. That blood. That ear-splitting silence

Ringing so clearly in my mind’s ears!

That fear to complain. That uncomprehended violence.

That empty world, no soul who understood, brought tears.


Ah, tears. Tears uncounted, unmeasured, long-forgotten;

Tears until there’s nothing left but salt-less whimpers

Of sorrow. Howling silently of the wretch, the rotten

Soul that is my own. Broken, and yet no limper.


But December. December. A month so special to me;

The frozen sun rising, the frosty spiteful air

Fill my lungs so… wholesomely.

The feeling is real, cold though a particular warmth to spare.


December. When the mental war ended and

The ashes blew about like snow;

The memories made peace with, and

The recollection completed. Now, I know.


No tears left in these eyes, but they cry still

To see that the world is so slow

To change: Still blood. Still fire. Still

Silence. Violence. Ignorance. No-

One to hear you, see you, cheer you.

No-one to come and pay you a simple smile;

The smallest charity! They only cause you

Pain, anger, sorrow. Frown. Mood, violent; mood, vile.


But December, something different… I don’t know:

While others frost over, I begin to glow.

The chill in the air calms me, shields me;

And the snow preserves me and heals me.

The cold air tells me: You will never forget what you underwent;

You can never let it go. And that is why I was sent:

To show you that life is cold, life is a test

For all. Life is hard, yes, but struggling made you the best.

You are alive, still. You can pass this long-seeming life

With flying colors. So move on and leave behind your strife.


December, oh December! So dear to me!

   The bitter comfort that set me free.

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