[This
poem appeared in the Lake County Record-Bee
and in the Clear Lake Observer on Saturday, December 14, 1996]
See the eyes of a child
Widened with the awe of the season
Opened with the incredible possibilities,
Closed to the doubts and humbug of
Older siblings, and twisted peers.
Oft times it is dimmed by the
report of
Those that are already hardened to life's
Perceived realities.
Often it is confused by messages
from those
That would dash icy water on this sensation
Of unfettered ecstasy, and memories past.
Of early mornings, down the
stairs, peeking at
The stockings on the mantle, and the absolute
Flash of knowledge, that Santa had come.
That he came, by however difficult
it seems,
Into your living-room to stuff your stocking to
Bulging with nuts, and candies, Mandarin oranges,
Tangerines, and a candy-cane, a set of jacks,
Some perfectly delightful combination of goods,
Not priceless, but in that moment, far more
Desired than gold or silver, or even diamonds.
The “knowing” that all the
accumulated doubt was
Unjustified, all the concern that he would not come.
Some will say this feeling is short-lived, and soon to
Be surmounted by the world's truth, of hunger and
War and death and tales of fright and ugliness.
Those that say this is a season of
the birth
Of a Christ Child, not to be sullied by
Sellers of goods, nor receivers of same.
But, it is a season of dropping
fences and
Lowered armor, of smiles and love and
Tears of gladness. Of magic moments that
Dart through our perception.
A child's scream of delight over
the possibilities,
Eyes, so widely opened, we fear they will fall out,
A moment of awe to see dour, dried up
Unbelievers, opening their hearts and their
Fortunes to others less blessed,
Watch how easy it is to rekindle that belief
In a personage and in an expectation of goodness,
Of giving, of joy and of plentitude.
Soon enough they are bombarded
with words from soul
Dead zombies, who somnambulistically lurch from
Ugly reproach, to nasty reproval.
Forget not that gift of the
heavens above,
But don't use it as a stone to crush the merriment of
Those capable of retaining some of God's love,
Some of the humanity that Jesus brought to us,
A little of the mysticism of the season.
When, old man time lays a heavy
burden on your
Soul, when age and reality have hardened your heart,
Take the time to put yourself in the close proximity of
The children of the world, and cascade your being
With the blessings of their perception of the magic
Of the season. Allow the tears of bitterness to wash
The pain of your sorrow from your soul, if only
For an hour, or even a tiny blink of time.
You will be better for it, as you too remember the joy
And the rosy magic of Christmas mornings past.
Written by Dale E. Malone, Do
you believe in Santa Claus?
The Great & Wonderful Kahuna wants to know!
Last
modified: April 26, 2009