One small child, but five years young,
On a stool, curled up tight,
in silence, sucks her thumb.
The aroma of sweet ginger men,
Stockings hung on high,
Flickers of a slender candle, linger in her eye.
Tick tock, TICK TOCK!!
The little hand meets twelve,
Steady shallow breath,
abruptly ceased and held.
Pitter patter,
Tip toe tip,
A shadow fills the hall,
The little girl, her heart it pounds,
RATTLES!!
rib cage walls.
‘Neath the footfalls of a silhouette,
The floorboards crying out,
A figure, dark with mystery, reveals one,
Tall and stout.
peach stained curve, imprinted on the face of one small soul,
Ascending up in height,
Climbing higher, high and bold,
Towards the long awaited sight.
But something here is wrong,
This isn’t who she ever thought would be,
Dropping off her wishes,
On a frigid Christmas Eve
Space and time,
They pause,
Searching, searching,
Panicked,
For the REAL, Mr. Claus.
‘Round the globe, the brightest stars
Seek aimlessly for truth,
As a frown, it creeps and dawns,
Showing not a solemn tooth
The twinkles on the tree of pine,
Glisten on her tears,
As mother dearest tucks the gifts,
Same as every year
Quick!
she nibbles goodies,
Placed with love above the hearth,
She tidies up her deed,
Making sure to leave one tart
Tip toe tip,
Her steps retraced,
Unknowingly her child disgraced,
As mournful streams,
Of salt they taste,
Dampen youth of toddling age.
Shuffling to the closet,
She slowly picks a broom,
To sweep up bits of shattered heart,
all to soon; torn apart.
Then pitter pat,
Trudging back,
Her wounded spirit floods the hall.