#rhymn

Sending my love,

And here's a hug too.

Wishing nothing but,

The absolute best for you.

With love and carefulness,

We shall find our way.

Hoping and waiting for,

St Nick, come and let's see.

There's rumbling up on the rooftop,

And the clatter was so loud.

Can someone please go up there,

And have a look around.

We, nestled in our beds,

Dreaming of our dreams.

Sleep, my precious angels,

Under the moonlight beams.

St Nick was waiting patiently,

And with a twinkle of his nose, he gave.

You might see St Nick out there,

Dashing across the Nite sky.

He's, singing and ringing,

With glee in his voice.

A Merry Christmas to All,

And to All,

Ho, Ho–Ho!

A Good Nite!

| © 2022 William Darnell Sr. |

| All Rights Reserved |

| Year Posted 2022 |

Source - PoetrySoup™

                                                      // small silly emotion without                                                          resolution takes on                                                          powerful rabid drama one                                                           would never actually want //

There’s a fine invisible line between love and desperate I’m heading back home to be a fridge magnet Extra seats empty again  cold december wind fitting in Around the same feeling thin Ignore how familiar it feels I’d never say I think about ending it But I drive small old wheels

Here’s a secret All I ate at Was the same game I starved to win Now you know that  We looked destined  I dream big but still regret

baby ohh

these sanctions got me covered in snow

this poem - a new winter written a long time ago -

not the fresh and white and dribbling

snow, fiddling around like kids on

the ground,

no! its more than that -- it's the smell of

burnt engine when i flick my Teggy on low,

it's more shivering than that. it's the snow

on the banks of parking lots and street

intersections black like lungs on a man

with sticks to cover you in a conversational

smog, or even, a glow.

in the clutter let me know,

crimson red to indigo.

i've got all the whistles to blow,

ayo ayo with locks of matted hair

or he with a snapback and his middle

finger in the air. he's got all the answers

there? baby ohhh, baby i doubt it ohhh,

i smell the tree in the Beemer where

minds were fucked and cocks clucked,

the black little tree, Black Ice reminds

me.

don’t slip, never slip on ice,

not there not here in Colorado

i turned the page but creased it at the bind

which is no way to live, some told me so.

i scrap with unease, boxing with a question mark.

in the ring!

heavy weight champions of woe, how the Earth doesn't

stop. i'm running on sentences and walking

on streets to address the queries that make

my body ache and skin break out. The wreckage of

bites in the drunkest of nights -- Matches with