Can't 'deck the halls'
just yet:
Their walls are sullied
by gunshot and soot;
The night skies grow ever
dimmer
Toward the solstice that beckons...
What shall we call this
Epoch of guns and bloodshed
Whose love of carnage
Is like wild, wicked
thorns?
December stands marked
By coffins, not garlands...
The scent of holly and
juniper
Is stilled; snuffed out
by senseless
Acts of violence.
Post-script: and the deadly beat goes on and on...enough already!!!
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