Life is a series of filtered myths
tiny aberrations of the truth.
We enter this world
wide eyed
fed lies and fairy tales
like pablum
with the best of intentions
while time is held in detention
calculated indoctrination
and neither the lion nor the lamb,
nor scattered pools of ashes frozen in winter’s rage
can unbuckle the stars
nor saddle the moon
or be eternally grateful for words bouncing
off the page,
so I will be forever content
to swallow eggnog and snow
and unspool stories of Christmas past,
once again,
in a place
where poetry and magic still live hand in hand.
© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.
