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Winter Song

December 12, 2018

To open a window in December

is to hear the winter sing.

The sky sends down its frosted bells

to coat the cooling ground,

and I watch in fern-green envy

as it gently drifts to sleep.

The world is a candied heartbeat,

swelling with holiday spirit

at the rise of every note.

They tell you

that if you listen very closely,

it will call for you to sing along—

but the song rests on the listener’s ear,

and mine can’t hear a thing.

 

At times, the air is masked

with the beat of drumming voices.

It’s not so quiet in my house,

and a pulsing mind is little better.

I cannot venture out the door

without some cheerful command

to be merry, happy, good, or else—

and I smile as best I can.

I lift my hand to wave

as any friendly neighbor should.

I return the kindly wishes,

and I’d like to think they’re honest.

It’s hard to know without the music.

 

If I had a song inside my head,

would the winter want to listen?

It wouldn’t be the kind of song

the snow would blush in pride

to call its own.

It would question why I feel so numb

when the bells feel so much joy;

and it would wonder why I always sigh

and circle to a blank refrain.

I wouldn’t want to sing it,

and that’s why I have no song.

I never learned to mend

the shattered record on the shelf.

 

I used to have a song to sing,

and it was loud, bright, and glad.

I was never one for silent nights.

Peace was all I’d ever known,

and I had never heard the tune of loss.

But when I set that crimson table

and watched the numbers around it shrink,

I found my heart in empty places

where the beat was just as hollow.

There is always that drumbeat,

making no melodies with its rhythm.

A throbbing hole,

deaf to the world.

 

To open a window in December

is to hear the winter sing—

but to open Christmas gates in heaven

will be to hear creation thunder.

If winter’s music gives a taste,

dreams of the future race the beat of my pulse.

I often wonder

how the whole of the blissful realm

will hold the songs of every tongue,

but I needn’t fear the Composer’s might.

I will learn to sing again;

but for now,

perhaps heaven will lend me a song.

19 Comments

    • Cindy Green

      Thank you for reading 🙂

    • Derek Grern

      “Perhaps heaven will lend me a song.”

      Heaven lent us you, Cindy.

  1. Stephanie

    Wow. This is gorgeous! I love the last line!

    Reply
    • Cindy Green

      It’s my favourite one, too. 🙂

    • Cindy Green

      Thank you!

    • Cindy Green

      *grins* You’re very kind.

  2. Katherine Baker

    I love this! I don’t really know what to say. It so beautifully contrasts the cheer of winter and the sadness you can feel and ends on a note of hope. I love how you kept coming back to the idea of a song. I’m a self-proclaimed music nerd, and I could easily hear what the things you described might sound like. Thank you for another beautiful poem.

    Reply
    • Cindy Green

      I’m so glad the music feel came through! Thank you for another encouraging comment. 🙂

  3. Eden Anderson

    I love your poetry, Cindy…you have such a way with words. I got tingles all over when I read this…it’s so beautiful.
    *cries*

    Reply
    • Cindy Green

      *cries with happiness*

  4. Mariposa Aristeo

    Cindy, Christmas is my favorite time of year and when you wrote a Christmas poem it was just about the best thing ever. 😍🎄This poem melts my heart and leaves a puddle of tears at my feet. 😭

    Reply
    • Cindy Green

      *hugs you*

  5. Alatheia Grace

    A poem that stirs the heart, rings with
    truth and gives a smile is all ways beautiful.
    Great job!

    Reply
    • Cindy Green

      And a poetic comment is always beautiful, too. 🙂 Thank you!

    • Danielle

      The poem really hit me, similar to how a punch in the face would feel, and I have a very good friend, who is good at punching. But either way the song hit me with
      “I used to have a song to sing,

      and it was loud, bright, and glad.

      I was never one for silent nights.

      Peace was all I’d ever known,

      and I had never heard the tune of loss.

      But when I set that crimson table

      and watched the numbers around it shrink,

      I found my heart in empty places

      where the beat was just as hollow.

      There is always that drumbeat,

      making no melodies with its rhythm.

      A throbbing hole,

      deaf to the world.”
      The part with The crimson table really hit me. because it can show that you have lost people and that has numb you of your joyfulness during Christmas. But I like the little hope at the end with the maybe Christ will help me song again.
      I know you probably get a ton of other comments saying that this was just a amazing poem, but it really is.
      And I hope your Christmas isn’t like this poem; I hope instead it’s filled with friends and family and opening presents and lots of singing.
      Because I think I know some people whose Christmas is a little like this poem, yet they’re always happy. Now it makes me wonder if they’re faking it. So it doesn’t appear that they’re faking a song…
      Sorry! Didn’t mean to put my troubled thoughts on you! Have a merry Christmas!

  6. Terah Stevens

    THis poem. . .
    You did a great job, Cindy!!!!
    This year I get the feeling you described at the beginning of it so often.
    As if nothing right, everything used to be but it shattered.
    I love the way you spoke it!!
    I love the ending!!!!

    Reply

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