For All the Dickens...
by Michael Doyle

It's on all these places and pages of the past
That we look back on the things that didn't last
When we do it is a surety that we will find
All those chains that constantly come to bind

Us so completely to our ghosts and shadows
Just short of our lives' disappointing shallows
In the depths, as it were, on the tenement walls
Like flickers from the flames that we recall

This then twists itself into a ghostly Christmas tale
One in which humanity's better nature prevails
As hope shines its light across this ancient earth
And true love is given for all that it is worth

Its worth, dear listeners, is just about everything
Love known and shown is the joy behind why we sing
It warms the hearts on even the most chilling of nights
And is the sum of what makes this season so bright

In this world, there are doubts enough and reasons to fear
It's the wrap-up of the pessimism that fills much of the year
But tonight, if only one night, we feel a Christmas cheer
Looking on that star, living our dreams as we travel as far

As the beat of our hearts as we look up into the skies
With a hallelujah, Noel, with a smile in our excited eyes
We finally know the truth behind the birth that holy morning
When God came to walk among us bringing us love and warming

On this one day, we pull fire from the chains of our strife
Sharing the sacred spark as we warm our souls in this life
This is a dream turned to joy that we find on Christmas Day
When even an older man turns into a boy lost up in play

While others struggle to find just one sort of right ending
The writer's soul knows the certainty of a new beginning
Felt until the nod of love brings him an enchanted sleep
Escaping to an unintentional smile that he feels too deep

Two selves, too often, struggle deep and dark within
He prays toward holiness while wretched in his sin
On his shoulders are two voices struggling to win
The shadows in his heart cause him to write yet again

It is ever his hope to lighten the burden of others
Through the words he writes, one after another
Finding his utility in pursuing a sense of frivolity
That perhaps brings some pleasure in its joviality

Yet still he stumble onward toward his nameless grave
Knowing only that love and Jesus are able to save
Confronting the mirror's solitary craven reflection
He whispers mantras to honor Christmas with right intention

When those having ability hold a hand out to fellow man
They hold the Christmas spirit as only those able can
And in so doing, they heed the universe's greatest call
Restoring a little bit of the heaven lost within the fall

(c) December 19, 2023  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved