We are all caught up in the Christmas madness again. Over the last few years I have railed and moaned about all the wasted money and fake snowflaking. I will not do that this year- partly because it has been said, but also because it is better to start closer to home.

However, I always find myself conscious of those who are outside the plastic bubble we make out of Christmas. I suspect that Jesus would be too. That is what this poem is about;

Ad vent

 

Who can ever expect the unexpected?

For what is hope to those from whom hope has been taken?

Why promise light but leave us in darkness?

I stand in this shit of tinsel and trimmings

Unmoved

The bells are not ringing

.

I live in the space between

What is

And what may never come.