Peace period

also pulsates
punctually, if unfashionably, 
periods of pure 
light that leaves 
the night
 — slighted
not at all: 
since unsighted, 
after all
(except in aftermath), 
and thus unmarred
(as when — to some — 
by beauty starred) — 
almost abysmal
ere its delightful 
illumines, again, 
that particular tree; 
electrifying ecstasy
 — sublime wonder 
to ponder,
dazed and dazzled
yet undaunted
by that flash
(flaunted to lust-riddled 
flesh, only) — 
putting garlands
of painted bulbs
to shame
in its shade;
rendering seasonal décor 
indecorous, garish
 — vulgar, obscene, almost — 
and glaring,
flaring without flair, 
squarely unfair;
with varnished veneer 
of switched-on cheer 
now vanished
despite spit and polish 
in bitchy 
pitchfork-fed sneer 
as answer churlish 
to halo
of galaxy
by glorious glow-worms; 
as it would
(if it but could)
chainsaw that matchless tree
 — simply because
’tis free for all — 
to matchwood;
pale and star-scarred
in its shadow,
guttering, guttural and pallid 
save in the sewer
(its alimentary element)
of a genesis
as the gross greeting
grating cauliflowered
year to bitter end:
going the way
of all garbage:
from bad to worse
before being bettered
to a bed
 — compassion prevailing
o’er constipation — 
of compost:
unspoilt night-soil
 — steaming,
streaming along
its predestined route,
bathed by holy heartbeat
of fireflies
frosting that fir
evergreen — 
at the light-footed,
flood-lit roots
of a Christmas tree
as it should be —