My Morbid Christmas Poem

The heartless one stole her voice away,
So she could not say but one word each day.
The windows weep, as my winter creeps
Into the heart that is me on this christmas day.
Where the silence beats on a silent drum
The word is a bell without its peal.
There’s no one to call, there’s no one to heed,
The peal from the word bursts like fruit from a seed.
It is there if we wait while this silence relates
That time is the conqueror that each of us hates.
I have not even a word to say.
Nor have I even a prayer to pray.
Are they godless gods? or do they pray themselves?
Perhaps to a saint, or a fat winter’s elf.
The gift of the giving reaches out to us all,
But I’m caught in the clutches of death’s winged thralls.
That carry me heartlessly without a pall,
With the silence that waits for us each one and all.