A Christmas Poem

The tree is up, the air is chilled,
the candles snuffed, the stockings filled.

The night is quiet, dense and pure
and morning will be great, I'm sure.

Yet we forget about the few
without a home, or feeling blue.

But all year long, there's help at hand
charities, shelters; all well-manned.

Few also think of those away
at war, in care or for the day.

But at this season of the year,
we should all stand together, here.

Although this year it may be hard,
I say, "Our Christmas Won't Be Marred!"

Let's deck the halls, and keep our distance.
Goodnight to all, and Merry Christmas!

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For context, this was written on 13/12/20, during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic.

Fury from the Night

I'm blinded by fury

at the world tonight.

I feel my heart beating

with all its might.

Wherever I turn

I just see human blight.

I can't be the only one,

am I right?

Nothing makes sense

and the hatred still grows.

There should be an exit,

but nobody knows!

My blood still boils

as my ink still flows.

I'm one with my anger

and, good God, it shows.

Hellfire rains down

in an unholy shower,

while git after git

are still left in power;

and while this does happen

my anger'll still tower –

it's not a small problem

to be solved in the hour.

As the clock ticks past midnight,

I'm starting to tire;

but I cannot escape

from the furious fire.

Oblivion will reign:

a nasty, old liar –

a horrible insult

to our planet, Gaia.

But still, time roams on

and I start to see light,

cutting in like a dagger

and banishing the night.

There's a flutter of wings

as my hatred takes flight.

I'm free from my anger –

for now, at least; right?