Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Christmas Eve in Dresden

The effect of my cause is Mist*
A sad revenant excuse
My kingdom with toil I have built
And it is a realm of refuse

But I have been offered a gift
Escape from these wages of sin
Ease to my sufferings and guilt
And it cuts through this painful din

Infant cry in the dark of night
Heaven’s weight in a young girl’s arms
Fragile form; hope of creation
It is the beauty of Christmas

For those who hear, an end to fright
A story inscribed on the stars
Herald proclaiming salvation
Poetry composed at Christmas

Every moment sees many babies born. and nearly as many people dying
The latter is sadly common and costly; the former magical mundanity
Yet when the Creator was born, in the form of the most delicate humanity
Witnessing angels must have held their breath, and marveled at the Sovereign’s audacity

In the unfathomable vastness of time and space
The crossroads of history and the universe may be found
In a battle fought on a hill near Jerusalem,
But all of creation hinges upon
That fragile moment in a stable in the town of Bethlehem.

[*] In addition to the English word meaning something that dims and obscures, Mist is German for manure, a mixture of animal feces and bedding straw used to fertilize.  To "build a Mist" is to create a problem or disaster.

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