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Homeless at Christmas
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Murmur of voices and soft lights,
Christmas trees and coloured balls,
Shapes dancing on the curtained windows:
The cheerful creations of Christmas.
Soft footfall, head down, plodding -
Not looking, but knowing the scene:
Not wanting to look, but needing to belong
And have a nicely-bricked address.
Tears of the heart, neither love nor hate
But longing - deep drive for belonging:
Stepping sadly, no price for a haircut,
Nor money for food, nor bed, nor shave.
Passing the church and the lytch-gate,
He is drawn to the yellow-wreathed door;
Hears the soft choir and the calling voice:
"My dear friends, welcome and thank you!" |
Chris Green |
Poem Background info: For me the loneliest time was Christmas when I was homeless; it is a time when the lack of a home or close family is especially painful. I did not, and do not, like Christmas as such because the enforced jollity makes me depressed. What I missed when I was homeless was the sense of 'belonging' somewhere, somewhen, somehow, with someone.
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