The Call of Garlands

 

Nostalgia festooned in seasonal fibers,

textures of lore hung in the mind,

grasps at yesteryear,

intuitively spread across that moment in time

when something inside

begs to reclaim the tinsel that charmed innocence,

adorning maturity’s shades of gray

with sentiment’s claret hues

to warm the chill of whirlwind fires

that bring some cataclysm,

using it as resilience’s buffer to hold onto sanity.

 

Appeasing the gnome clawing inside,

wanting to dance, but restraining the music

in silent smiles of concession.

 

Draping a emblem of cheer

over the void in festive allure,

as appeasement to call within

to acquiesce in subtle calming surrender

unto the melodies of celebration,

an attempt to keep the scars of unexpected holocaust

from destroying any hope of restitution,

which makes life more than black and white.

and cushions what terror filleted the harmony.