Baubles reflecting,
trees exposing the covetous expectations
beyond the coffers of the average mortal.
Excitement and melancholy the habitual recipe
imbibed from the cup of childhood delusions.
Deliverance from the daily grind
celebrated with the clanking of trolleys,
all sense abandoned; the will of the privileged enacted
through the consumer displeasure of the lowly.
Rushing, pushing, groaning, moaning,
returning exhausted from disillusioned dreams;
traditions of old suffocated by tinsel and wish lists.
Aged and lonely,
recollections of life passed the sustenance of days now starved of affection.
The wrinkled path of a life lived
protected by the glass framing memories,
better times, livelier times
when youth was on your side.
Crocheted mantles shrouding the chill of snowflakes falling,
as you sit watching snowmen stare blankly at the life before them.
Cardboard blankets of corrugated nightmares,
scattered and frozen by winter’s cruel kiss.
Huddled doorways of the anonymous,
lives forgotten through times bitter promise;
bypassed by the feet of the fortunate.
Bottles empty, life left hanging,
an arm exposed through orange lamplight.
Yesterday’s news, the sins of the famous;
recycled bedspreads of the the lost and nameless,
as children sing carols rejoicing the saviour.
Slaves of the city dine on the needy
feasting on the exertions of those beneath them.
Fireplaces glowing, champagne flowing;
cascading through the veins of the vulgar.
Their bellies full, they rejoice in the season,
warmed by the knowledge that others are wanting.
The guffaws of the bores drowning the sound of church bells,
calling the meek to their yearly Hallelujah.
Reah Roberts © 2012
Tales From Behind A Cushion 