Christmas Never Comes Early.

I found Christmas just around the corner,
Roaming the streets so lonely
In the borrowed rags of a night prowler.

I saw the snow, starched white
Like the flowing aged beard
Of the yards of cotton, endless.

I found the flute of mahogany wood
Dust laden, and sabotaged
Like the vandalized ancient heritage.

And I saw mask of stoic calm on the vacant faces
Of people walking down the bustling streets.
Hiding the turbulence of life, the cast iron mask.

A league above the rest, the pride
Of liquidity at the finest best,
I turned to see reflections of myself
Across the glass display walls
Of the city's pride mall.

In the black of my eyes, I found the eclipse
Of blind lithesome sand.
All over the grandiose Armani attire,
I found holes many.
Exquisite Cleopatra make over all smudged,
I found a banshee in the hiding.
I held my battered Louis Vuitton bag tight,
So tight that my finger nails chipped off
And painlessly bled my vanity.

Repulsed at my reflection stark,
I looked down at me.
No gaping holes, and no smudge
Of poverty, I found.
My manicured nails red, shed no tears
Of fallen pride.
Perfect-o, I spoke aloud, for self redemption.
And yet, I broke away into a run.

And the Christmas walked away, so far away,
Dressed in the ragged robe of grime,
Unnoticed.

There's no greater fear than the uncertainty
Of today,
And the unforeseen destiny of tomorrow.
And in a moment of naked fear, I found no night prowler
Walking down the street, disguised.

It was just the winter mirage...
(Christmas never comes early, I quipped.)


... Or is it just a slice of vanity, Crumbled?
(Echoed from across the realm of the unsaid.)