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In Search of Christmas

Black snow fell each Christmas
Until the time of sixty-two.
Midst all the bustle,
Feigned joy of others,
There was no joy for me.
Each gift like a barbed hook
Fastened itself to me
And built guilt upon guilt until
I cried for an end to it.
"Nothing hath befallen you
That is not common to all"
Kept ringing in my soul, but
Surely there must be joy for others.
Or were all playing the game well?
God sent a wingless Angel
That guided me from hell
And took me to that Inner Man
That He had made so well.
A child of beauty, forever there
Waiting to take my hand in search
Of peace of mind, contentment, joy;
All there, just waiting to be owned.
Three other Angels, without wings
Were sent to guide my path.
Gloria, with her "Revolution,"
Shirley, with her "Dance."
And, even Roseanne whose
Blacksmith blows of rusty truth
Helped forge esteem of self.
A rebirth of sorts, an awakening perhaps,
That changed the colors of Christmas.
The snow falls white and coats my soul,
That now can take with joy
The gifts to be received.

James K. Arnold


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