This Christmas,
paint me your heart,
not with stroke of brush
or quill,
but communing in
windswept moments
exhaled from your eyes,
a time when heavy
thought
is put aside,
and yearning souls
converge in oneness…
.
Paint me your heart,
not with contrivances
or bearing,
but with hopeful
expressions shared
in life’s unending conflict,
a time when all
besetting gloom
is cast as fragments
upon a cleansing sea…

For if desire finds no dawning,
and longing lightens not a blacking land,
who then would see love as a rare flower fair?
And if two embrace a waning moon, before
sunlight becomes fiery in dawns eruption,
who could forfend loves despair?
.
So…
.
This Christmas, my love,
paint me your heart,
not with folly
or dignity,
but in anticipation
of goodness, when joy
supplants all despondence,
a time when
temporal strife ends,
and all sharing glows in the
wholeness of loves true intent…

richard lloyd cederberg
12/2020