Carols croon soft in my ear this early morning,
Though as usual my heart does not wish to sing;
The noose of life has tightened and I need the knife,
Which I threw away to prevent preconceived strife.
How ironical that I should need that blade now!
My world and I are being swept in the thick flow
Of superficiality, progress and money –
A trapped, dying fly in a golden vat of honey!
So some friends threw me a rope to help me escape;
But it snagged on my neck and each pull felt like rape;
If I struggle a bit they think me ungrateful,
Though it is to my own self I’m being unfaithful!
I am caught either way and trust has long since died;
Old entreaties to God have also been denied;
So Jesus descends into the world on this day,
But I can’t hope, can’t sing, can’t rise, can’t sink, can’t pray.