Let each thought causing you harm now cease; strong and brave you shall be!
Not brooding on what’s past does sound wise; exactly what we feel.
The acts you do are not done by you; there’s forces you hardly see.
Fruit, therefore, you’ll not seek even once; let’s just term all this deal!
Let this year rouse the knight in you that sleeps;
Each moment let the wakened you rejoice.
New days will bring new beginnings in leaps;
Year after year you will attain more poise.
Make wise decisions, let there be no hate;
You will obtain what you desire, my mate.
Carrying gifts, comes the Santa;
He guffaws upon seeing us.
Riddling and giggling, he dances,
Illuded by the merry fuss.
Santa shakes the bag he carries,
Times each move ere catching a bus
Merry Christmas! He hoys cool gifts.
And says, ‘You shall grow happy thus.’
Shouts of elation now, no fuss.
We can be each other’s love if you will;
Shall I beseech you thus to feel my love
So both may joy in little things, have fun?
Be guided not by fame but one’s own will!
In shame, guilt and regret we shan’t down bow;
Love. Oh, that feeling we should not once shun.
They’ve fallen from the trees that now stand nude and pale,
So leaves my soul to figure what they hold;
I’m lying to myself (no falsehood in this tale),
but on my mind dwell truths about the cold.
Is the weather not presaging what will happen
to grass ploughed well in April, May, and June?
Hand in glove with you is He, nothing’ll mishappen
but the gloves you have worn may wear out soon.
The leaves flicker along with Sun;
‘Words up!’ as I hear someone say.
You shall a business found well stressed.
‘Will if you need to make you gay.’
Does not the sky obscure the worlds afar,
Insuring all gods who abide in light?
Summered have we on planet Earth so far;
And we know what’s hard here is for them light.
Mothers have sure mothered billions of souls,
But who begot the first mother d’you know?
Howl many a wolf while dire darkness dawns;
Allaying fears of wraiths and ghosts, the like.
Play phantoms ’bout with kids who jump like fawns;
Penumbras soon emerge to cause a strike,
Yelps now the norm, just graves remain, no lawns.
The men who dwell on land theirs state they have an open mind;
No trouble may happen upon they feel; ‘We are always kind!’
Some biding with those men but sense there is something amiss;
They say they’re having a tough time; ‘A thing or two we miss.’