Tears of Sorrow and Joy
I.
December arrives
like a choir of shining things,
glass baubles trembling on branches,
streetlamps wearing halos,
windows catching light
the way tired hands catch warmth.
But each polished surface
hides another truth:
reflections of those we pass
as softly as snow avoids a flame,
the man bundled beneath a bench,
a shadow inside the glow;
the mother counting coins
in the hush of a parking lot,
her hope thin as the frost
etching its way across the windshield.
Even the ornaments tremble
as though they know that
we look away too quickly.
II.
The season hums
with its familiar symphony,
bells threading the air
like silver promises,
carols drifting through doorways
warm enough to feel like grace.
Yet outside…
The world’s forgotten children
stand like unanswered prayers,
their eyes reflecting holiday lights
the way deep water reflects the moon:
beautiful, distant, unreachable.
The homeless gather
in doorways and underpasses,
their lives folded small
like weather‑stained letters
no one remembers how to read.
We glide past them,
ghosts in our own stories,
carrying bags filled with comfort
we seldom let spill
toward those who need it most.
III.
Still, a gentler truth waits for us,
patient as a candle yearning
to share its flame.
Joy is not the glitter,
nor the noise we wrap around our fears;
it is the hand extended
before despair can fall,
the stranger offered warmth
on a night that feels endless.
It is the love we lend
to the ones who believe
this may be their final Christmas,
their last fragile chance
to be held in the world’s light.
And when we choose them,
the poor, the weary,
the overlooked far and near,
something quiet breaks open
in the deepest part of us.
A soft ache,
like snow melting on warm skin.
A tenderness rising
like dawn over a darkened field.
And suddenly,
peace feels possible,
not because the world has changed,
but because we have.
And the tears on our cheeks
shimmer like tiny blessings,
falling from a smile
that finally understands
what this season
was always meant to mean.
You reminded me of that song, "Down in Africa, by Toto."Do they know it's Christmas after all?"
In South Sudan, in Gaza and on many streets in America. Are we ignoring them? I hope not.
Ron