I would write the “Lord’s Prayer”

The first sentence is 10 words.

(anyone who wanted to listen.)

Let this Christmas Day

and this holiday season

embrace our time together

singing the songs of angels.

May the joy you bestow

to others come back

to you on winged feet.

Let the peace in your hearts

waft into still air as you

cocoon yourself in

warm magic blanket

of Christmas morn.

Absorb childhood fantasies

and pleasures of youth.

May you wave a wand

and transform your existence

into one that is softer and brighter.

May your skies be so high

that you lose sight

of your troubles.

Embrace the genial flickers

of heartfelt charity.

Know that every sunrise

brings a new day.

Glance upward

at gliding clouds

and diamond stars.

May the feelings

of Christmas

live forever within

your heart, filled

with good tidings.

Beware of office

Christmas parties

so you won’t have to

look for a new job!

(I threw that in to see

if you were listening!)

and may you be heir

to peace and goodwill

and a happy New Year.

Blank it seems empty, safe, and ready.

Or is it taunting, laughing, mocking,

an expanse that yawns for using, filling, shocking?

"No! shake that feeling off, hold steady.

Paper cannot harm me, charm me, or alarm me.

My pen can disarm it, my words will reform it.

So why won't my Muse do the talking?"

The clock is now audibly ticking and tocking;

the white chasm before me still open and yawning.

Oh, God! Why is my inspiration not dawning?

"Release," I command, "the ideas you are blocking!"

I slap my head, filled with dread, afraid the spark is dead.

"It's no use", I said, "my Muse, she has fled,

so for her I must go a-stalking."

Resigned, I give up, inner beauty restrained,

but the paper still smirks with a vengeance.

"And what of you? What is your sentence?

Perhaps violence and fury and fire unchained?"

Without conceit, with justice to mete, I pick up the sheet.

"My words you cheat -- Ouch! A dastardly feat!"

A paper-cut I have sustained.

My friend 

Whom I claimed

I loved. 

My friend

who loved me But

loved my best friend

more. 

I watched you 

watch her. 

A pang in my heart

every single time. 

I smiled when you smiled. 

But why did I not 

Stop 

and Turn back

when I saw your pained expression.

That day. 

I hated that day. 

I hated myself on that day. 

So much. 

"Bye"

You said 

With an expression

that made my heart drop. 

My pride stopped me. 

And yet I claimed that I loved you. 

I walked away from you that day

And that was the last time I saw you. 

Sorry. I am so sorry. 

I still love you and hate myself even more each day. 

Your smile in the pictures still make me melt.

The ice behind my eyes. 

Why did you have to leave

when I left? 

Please come back. 

No. This is retribution and a reward. 

Rest in peace, my dear friend. 

I sheltered your pain that day, just here, between the beats of my heart.

I saw how your face fell, soft and slack,

eyes moist with unbearable news.

Empty womb.

The words ricocheted around the sterile room,

and landed

with the grace of a Mack truck right at your gut.

I saw your chest cave in,

As if every last bit of breath was abandoning your body.

"Breathe!" I thought.

But when you did, the flood began.

Cry, my friend. It's ok

I will be here to swim the tide with you.

And when the mourning breaks on light of day

you'll see,

there's but one thing left to do.