(A choir member's fervent prayer,
December 10, 2009).
The torn screen door swings open
Exposing a heap of cans on the floor,
Drained dry, sapped six-packs,
Dreams, distant hopes of youth spilt,
Now dingy stains on the carpet.
The stench of beer and sweat
Drenches every inch of air,
As a cloud of thick smoke swells.
Cigarette butts litter the floor,
Tossed aside, burnt out, scorched idealism.
Shining childhood naivety,
The innocent glow of youth,
Tainted, tattered, tarnished,
Smothered, suffocated, strangled,
Mangled, maimed, and marred.
There was a party here last night,
Or did he drink alone?
It hardly matters now.
Alone he slouches on the couch,
Dead eyes, anesthetized to life.
Is there hope for him this Christmas?
Might he find joy this time of year
Amidst the plastic twinkling lights?
Might the brilliant Advent candles bright
Illumine this soul and enliven his eye?
May we not glide by this Christmas
Snuggled in our jingling sleds,
Cocoa in hand and cookies sweet,
Joyful carols ever echoing
In our scarf-wrapped little heads.
May the truth of that blessed night,
Floating, soaring through our song,
As the star which shone so bright,
Lead the lost to our dear Savior,
Guided by our hearts’ delight.
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