Prelude: Part II
Come.
...Open your eyes. Let the dream dissolve,
remember who and where you are, and when;
forgive this rather rude awakening
from childhood tales and timeworn images
of much-disputed historicity
mixed with poetic whimsy and the dust
of an empire fifteen centuries dead;
and follow, if reluctantly, my voice
Back to our own time, and another Advent
in this, the most portentous of all years:
The thirteen cycles winding slowly down,
and my own decade, too, set to expire
the same day; and though often not inclined
to wild belief or baseless superstition
I cannot help but feel some apprehension
at this unsettling confluence of endings.
And signs more tangible: once more besieged
by heatwave and by storm the nations gather
to sink their hopes in well-rehearsed defeat
with grim paralysis the only victor.
…But should we be surprised? For we as well
make vows in Advent's wake of warm goodwill
(derisive in their triviality,
and, mostly, for our single benefit) --
Yet as the dark and numbing chill drags on
we find ourselves back in the old routine,
resentful in our disillusionment
at all the new year's broken promises;
in carefully devised amnesia
forgetting it was we ourselves who failed,
both traitor and betrayed -- (and, in strict truth,
our expectations having been no higher).
And so, next year, we come once more around
the endless wheel of our own trodden footsteps
shamefaced with a self-deprecating smile
and wearied from our unredemptive wounds,
surprised, as ever, by the early darkness:
To humbly beg for absolution, and
purification by the changeless pine,
the blood-red holly, and fresh-fallen snow.
And for a week (or maybe two) pretend:
this time, yes, peace shall reign, and Christmas heal
all things; and smugly basking in the soft
reflected halo of the colored lights
forget the archived wrongs and the detritus
that lie preserved within the layered drifts
to rot unmasked in spring's discovery:
such is our long-accepted ritual.
…But now, in this most snowless of Decembers,
hypocrisy is futile; though our taste
for self-deception may be satisfied,
an overburdened earth is not amused
nor suffering appeased. Our half-voiced dreams
may be fulfilled; the vital, urgent task
set for us: truth. In mingled hope and fear
walk with me, then, through Advent now, and here.
Footnotes:
Stanza 2: The "thirteen cycles" refer to the 13th b'ak'tun of the Mayan calendar, which ended on either the 21st or the 23rd (depending who you talk to) December, 2012. (The poem was originally written in December 2012.) The latter date is my own birthday as well.
Stanza 3: This refers to the 2012 UN climate change conference in Doha, Qatar, which was just finishing up as I wrote this poem.
Background on An Advent Canticle:
In December 2012, I wrote a series of 25 poems in total (one for each day of December 1-24, plus a Prelude) and posted each one here on Daily Kos as I completed it. The poems dealt with common Christmas themes, as well as with issues highly relevant to Daily Kos readers: commercialism, climate change, and interfaith dialogue, among others. The wonderful feedback and support I received from Kossacks was a big part of what kept me going throughout this project!
It was suggested that I repost them on Daily Kos as a yearly event, and after some thought, I've decided to do so. (If you want to read them all, they're archived here; scroll down to the bottom.) Enjoy!