Back from Midnight Mass,
blessings reflected,
O Holy Night sung.
Dishes are washed,
Presents all wrapped;
The stockings are hung.
Tree lights are on,
Coffee pot’s prepped,
In the window hangs Peace.
I pray that it’s true
As we sang tonight,
That oppression will cease.
Consider the Babe
no room in the inn
Is His origin story.
Now things in His name
Atrocities done
For Man’s glory.
If He came tonight
Just outside under stars
And worship meant kneel in wet straw
Would I see past the muck
cradle crude, family poor.
Would I receive Him with awe?
About the Creator
Judey Kalchik
It's my time to find and use my voice.
Poetry, short stories, memories, and a lot of things I think and wish I'd known a long time ago.
You can also find me on Medium
And please follow me on Threads, too!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.