“The Ghosts of Christmas Past”

By Micah Singleton

The Ghosts Of Christmas Past
As a cold wind blows, the hour comes fast,
to a time when Christmas, will be part of the past.
With no tree of lights, and no gifts to bear,
a man sits alone, as a chill fills the air.
His fire gives no warmth, and his blanket none as well.
He knows only this night, was once a story to tell.
One of happiness and song, with all the family there.
With these days now gone, He ponders as to why he should care.
None come to see him, and his home is in disarray.
The phone no longer rings, he feels they forgot the way,
and trying hard as he may, with all of his might,
it seems he can only build a fire, on Christmas Eve night.
In the corner he always sits, in what remains his favorite chair,
as he thinks of all the joy, that use to carry through the air.
This night was so special, the deepest moments in his heart,
and now they are but memories, of which he cannot part.
A crash of broken glass, shouts from the other room,
strangely he doesn’t flinch, as his old dresser falls with a boom.
Footsteps stop at the door, to his parlor he sits in,
and as the front door is opened, a man says “Honey, there is a fire in the den!”
As he sits making not a sound, a man suddenly cries out,
“We are sorry, we thought no one here, if you say we will get out!”
The old man man sat still, and said not a word,
and nearly shed a tear, at the next voice he heard.
“Did Santa build that fire Daddy, the one over there?”
For the first time in years, he felt warmth in the air.
A little girl ran to the blaze, that seemed brighter with new life,
and in walked a man, and what appeared to be his wife.
Their coats were ragged, and covered with snow,
and thought the Old Man, “To a family how could I say no.”
He said not a word, and watched them set down a large pack,
from which they pulled blankets, and a small snack.
From the corner he stared, and said not a word,
he smiled deeply, at the love and laughter he heard.
Never did he question, why they were here,
it was a dire situation, to him it was clear.
The child looked to his chair, and gave a shy little smile,
he looked in her eyes, for what seemed a long while.
Then he made a funny face, and she laughed aloud,
then laid down by the fire, as her parents looked at her so proud.
“She has taken this so well”, the Mother said with a tear in her eye.
Her husband pulled her close, and together they began to cry.
“When I find a job, we will tell her Santa just came late”,
when the Old Man heard this, he knew this little girl should not wait.
After the couple laid down, he rose from his chair,
and went smiling to his attic, and gently walked up the stair.
Everywhere the clutter, of what his life had once been,
and the objects for which he searched, would live once again.
The box he sought, held the treasures of his life.
Those of his own, and his dearly departed wife.
He knew She would approve, of what he intended to do,
and from Heaven up high, she was smiling too.
He came down the stairs, with what he went to seek.
A smile had grown on his face, wide from cheek to cheek.
Approaching the fireplace, he felt a sense of cheer,
for what this girl didn’t know, is St Nicholas was already here.
Though hard to carry, he laid the doll gently at her side,
and in the pocket of her Father, something special to hide.
His Grandfathers old watch, and his Wifes diamond ring,
He felt it was time, but he must do one more thing.
He could find no paper, nor pencil or pen,
so with a piece of coal he decided then.
It took all his energy, his effort and might,
but upon his wall, he was able to write.
When he was done, he wearily sat back in his chair.
He needed no blanket, with the warmth in the air.
Closing his eyes, he felt he could now sleep,
and remember this Christmas his heart will keep.
as for the message he wrote, it was written true,
but not just for them, also for me and you.
It was simple not to write, but easy to see,
“You are good to one another, continue to be”,
“Love Santa.”
……….I wrote this poem from a vision/daydream I had that moved me this morning. Spawned of my memories of Christmas past, and those no longer with us. As I am alone this Holiday season, I grow evermore thankful for the times I have had coming of age, and live with no regrets. For none of us are alone, with Ghosts of Christmas Past. MicahSingleton 12/20/12

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