Advent

What a strange time is this.
Now, in these dark days,
We wait. We celebrate.

Down through the dark centuries,
Through the sadness and sickness,
Through the wars and rumours of wars,
Through the mists, darkly,
We wait. We celebrate.

As the darkness pushes in,
Creeping up the clockface,
The cold monster eating the daylight;

We wonder, in our deep cores,
If each day will even dawn.

But:
Into this dark season of despair
We plant a small seed of hope.
We celebrate the turning of the tide,
Which is both the lowest ebb and
The beginning of the return of
The sun into his daylight kingdom.

At first, nothing seems to have changed;
It is still, seemingly, the darkest hour,
The lowest, hopeless moments.

After all, it is only a tiny seed,
An obscure, rural birth.

And yet, and yet, AH! And yet!
The tide HAS turned, the clock is ticking,
The darkness slowly driven back
By the kingdom of daylight,
Dark's defeat made inevitable though
Still invisible in this dismal chill.

So we wait,
And we celebrate,
Rejoicing in the beginning
Of the end;
We celebrate, we anticipate
The soon-sprouting seed
Beneath the bare soil.

December 2006

Night Garden

In this dark place of cool night
The leaves shine dully in the moonlight
And the morning never comes
And the cup is never taken

The gnarled trees, the shining leaves
Stand silent, impassive, in the dark
And I find no comfort
And I sweat no blood

The grass gathers glistening dew
The air cools to a sharp edge
And I find I cannot pray
And I find I cannot stand

The crickets make monotonous music
The garden waits for the distant dawn
And I think, "why have you abandoned me?"
And I cannot say, "Your will, not mine"

Or maybe that's not me kneeling

Maybe that's me drowsing over there
With a full belly and a dull mind
Having just promised to never betray

Or is that me coming through the dew
Clutching my paltry silver
Leading the grim silent soldiers?