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Christmas Eve

dawn creeping
o'er the mountains,
and through bare limbed trees....

Christmas Eve...
amid the hustle and bustle,
colored lights and wrapping paper....

families and friends....
the streets still alive with those
who have nowhere else to be....

empty houses, empty trailers,
stray dogs and abandoned cars....
somewhere church bells are ringing.

a baby born in a bare apartment,
the rats scurry to meet him,
the pot on the stove empty.

no curtains on the windows,
bare bulbs, no shades.
no angels, no wise men,

an eviction notice on the door...
yet another baby Jesus,
will he make it, will he die?

will he bring light and salvation?
or will they find his small body
in a dumpster with the trash?

fate, or understanding,
holiness knocks on the door,
again, and again!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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