Creative Writing

A Poem: Christmas After Death

“Christmas After Death”

Warm skin hides the truth within

The crackling fire chips at my mind

It can’t penetrate the deep freeze

I stare, mesmerized

Presents? I don’t want them

They are ash to be brushed aside

Don’t be so cruel as to play that gaudy music

It cuts me with its cheap talk of love

Just leave me with the fire

It seems to understand

A consuming heat and then it’s gone

Cold, charred rubble is all that remains

By Holly Fister

1 thought on “A Poem: Christmas After Death”

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