Friday, February 04, 2011


This moving Hill,
Our ritual mountain
of unreal moments,
Not mine
Not yours,
Not hours.

Simply begone,
Grace the clown,
Yet, Break new ground,
Burrow pass Yesterday.
Dust the wheels
beneath the Golden Child,
Instead of the revered
Chimney choir.

The smoke grows,
It grows, ever grows,
It gnaws at the absence,
Collecting the weight
of worn window shutters,
Tasting the closet leaves.
Grasping the gesture
that Loneliness is not a sin ....
When Placed on Calendars.
Pride was never a reason
or our excuse,
We just embraced
without even touching.
Let's break the tradition
of timeclock compassion,
even those who don't
practice, the magic
or the faithful tragic.

Showcase Vulnerable Smiles,
Selfless Laughter,
with cast iron glee,
the charm of open arms,
the grace to merely be.
Reconsider your seasonal wilds,
Reject the style,
Alone in crowds,
Somewhat, on Holidays.

----- Kevin Mark Charles Holiday 12/24/10

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