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Silent Night
By La Belle Rouge

It's silent in the city
on Christmas Eve at three AM.
He sits on a bench by the cemetery fence
and no one walks by to notice him.
They're all at home by the fireside
or tucked into their warm bed.
The cemetery lies 'neath a blanket of snow
cold, silent city of the dead.

His thoughts retire to somewhere
he hasn't been in years.
He thinks of other, better times
and his faded eyes fill with tears.
He hears the precious squeals of joy
when his children see their gifts.
Remembering little hands and faces
as happily into his arms he lifts
tiny ones who give him a reason to live.
Sweet memories of his loving wife
and all the comfort she would give.

Through the fence he sees the stones
that mark their place of rest under the snow
and the despair he feels this Christmas Eve
no other soul could begin to know.
Taken away all three in one fell swoop
by a driver too drunk to put on brakes.
And now just to simply keep breathing
without them, all his strength it takes.
He lost his mind, he lost his job,
he lost his will to even try.
He wished that he could sleep with them,
he hoped to God he could die.
It's silent in the city
at three AM on Christmas Eve.
A forgotten man with a broken heart
wipes his runny nose on his sleeve.

They call him just a no good bum
a man who won't pull his weight at all
but they have no conception
of the reason for his desperate fall.
It's silent in the city, when he's found at dawn.
Another John Doe sent to the city morgue
now all hope for help is gone.
But in his pocket a yellowed paper folded
with instructions for when he's dead.
Don't send him to the pauper's field
bury him next to them instead.
The grave is already paid for
the funeral arrangements too.
Lay him to rest at "Garden Of Peace"
in plot one hundred fifty two.



12/8/2006 La Belle Rouge

"Poetry, Soul Whispers"