Christmastime – a poem in prose

"I have always thought of Christmas time… as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely…" – Charles Dickens

There's a chronic tension this time of year,

one that I've experienced my whole life long…A sensibility,

a knowing,that illumines my consciousness offering brief visions,

like the flashing of humming birds and the flitting of winter wrens.

Once here,now gone.

I can barely behold it,

capturing only a glimpse of its gaiety,

before it disappears into an airy rubble of emptiness.

Cravenly, I want to float on the season's cheery promises

found in singing of carols,

chiming of bells and flickering of candles.

Where is this holy tide of Christmasthat ushers in great comfort and joy?

What do glad tidings tellof wisdom from on high?

I experience a chronic tension this time of year…A longing for a perfect and complete love.

No disregard, disappointment or dissatisfaction.

Only a desire to love and to be loved.

I have a sense of blessed notions

nestled in Christmastime.

Searching for the perfect gift,

exchanging tangibles,

a symbolic substitute for unselfishly offering myself.

A chronic tension that hides my longing

for supple assurance,

a pliable notion of belonging,

filled with a satiny warmth of security.

My heart faintly assemblesthe valiant idea of peace

prevailing among nations.

Enemies?

None.

Friends?

All.

This hope summons something deep down inside.

It's a holy season, this Christmastime

,locating my soul,

working ever so hard

to satisfy my spiritual hunger,

a craving.

There's a chronic tension this time of year,

one I've been wrestling with my whole life long…

A sensibility,

a knowing that briefly brightens my consciousness,

like the flashing of humming birds

and the flitting of winter wrens.

It was right here,

now gone.

I capture only a glimpse of its gaiety,

before it disappears into an airy rubble of emptiness.

A perfect peace?

A perfect love?

Where?

A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.com and find her on Facebook.
2010© Paula Damon

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