Something a little different to celebrate Christmas; a poem I wrote for a writers’ group.
Hopes and Fears
I sit and ponder;
the glorious celestial glow fades.
What could he mean?
A baby while betrothed?
Called the Son of the Most High
before he’s even mine.
The promise of a child –
one who could destroy me
but save the world.
The hopes and fears of all the years
collide in my womb.
* * *
From the poverty of hope
to the hollow greed of consumerism.
Our hopes are for frivolity,
our fears for the bank balance.
* * *
I race and spend;
the artificial neon sparkle cuts out.
What does this mean?
A festival of shops? Unwanted presents for all?
Desperately stocking up, no matter the cost.
The promise of tension, stress, midnight wrapping –
a season which could tear us apart.
And after two thousand years,
what can alter our fears?
The promise of Emmanuel.