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Michael McGuire
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A Falling Star on Christmas Night
I saw a falling star on Christmas night,
I kept it for myself; told no one of its brief brilliance,
Though maybe some other star-gazer witnessed this wonder,
My thoughts had been touring their sub conscious emporium,
Forging the soft sorrows of my first Christmas without you,
And my life and the shapeless heap of moments, That have sharpened the present one to its pointless point,
In the tangled trance of this mystical misery I saw this wreck of heaven spend its light.
I saw a falling star on Christmas night,
I thought of omens and epithets of starlit oceans of bottomless design,
And the night is a metaphor and the night is real; it's the bones of god,
And time was a blank canvas and I a starving artist,
In this infinite moment that seemed a gateway to eternity,
I lived out the span of my sober ghost of sorrows, I tried to divine some meaning; tried to believe it was you,
And for a moment I felt the peace that passeth understanding then resumed my former brooding.
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