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Literature
Unfound Santa Claus ~ Serodous
Looking at the stars under the cloak of small snowflakes
Floating down and in my eyes
Open window, lets the cold air in
I close it, and sigh at the black and blue
It's Christmas time now
And what a day it is
Oh what a day it is
Silence is ringing in my ear
And I'm blinded by this tearEveryone else is sleeping
But I'm to busy weeping
Weak and alone
With the voices in my head
Voices in my head
Why so many voices in my head?
I grabbed on to my bed sheets
And pulled them to my wall
I lean again the cold wallAnd I'm holding on to my teddy
And holding on for the comfort
And my body is sleeping
By not my mindI shiver, I have been asleep
So I got ...
Literature
Don't Forget a Carryon.
Like a window left open,
He shuts his eyes when she comes home.
Don't mind the draft,
They're only screams with the common cold.The static winds,
Like a knife in the back.
She'll love him,
Yeah, sure hunny.One, two, three,
Hunger strikes but he's faking the whole night.
"Sleeping" away, "dreaming" away.
He just might let himself slip tonight.Four, five, six, the aurora happens back at one.
He'll wait till she's asleep to get on with his life,
Cause that's the thing he really wants.
But tonight will be different,
THe bags under his eyes aren't the only bags he's carrying.
Goodnight, love.
Yeah, sure hunny.
Literature
Dreaming Of Christmas
This is the night of all nights in the year —
the house is rocked by snores, ’though none will hear
except one visitor who, treading light,
ascends the staircase, robed in red and white.
So faint, the moonbeams trickle through cold glass —
pick out a figure — slanting shadows pass —
a cloud of breath dispersing haunts a dream —
a bell somewhere is chiming, sharp and clean
it cuts the silence — Hark! — the tapping hooves
on frosted tiles prance dainty on the rooves
while the festive spirit spreads its peace around,
small cradled children slumber — safe and sound...
while gifts appear beneath the tinselled tree
and fill the empty stockings magically —
as though some wishful vision summoned there
has done a dreamer’s bidding — unaware
they are a figment — conjured with the sound
traditional in story — words spin round
and weave such pictures — deep inside we feel
for one night only, Santa Claus is real.
Why relax after a long night's work, when you can do something much more stressful?
Mature
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