The presents are gone
But we didn’t speak of Jesus
The Word became flesh
And I think we forgot.
The number of dead
That weigh on my soul
None of them have come
None of them died and rose.
But heavy my heart
With grief and pain
Forgive me my blindness
That keeps me from joy.
“Good tidings,” they said
Listen my heart
Despite the decades of pain
Please be still and believe.
The world in Joy could use such things
And if the Word was made then flesh
Then it would seem a simple thing
To light the world again.
Of the most important things
That history ever held
The ones that held history
Are more important still.
The war drums beat with perfect score
Counting dead and wanting more
They mark the progress lost in time
And at home the bells do chime
The seasons come with gale-spent force
And throats from singing grow quite hoarse
The shouts and cries out from the field
Mix with drums and singing steel
The maidens make their black gowns shine
And tune their strings to keys so fine
The air is thick and loud with care
As the vultures watch and stare
The drum beats seep into the soul
The running feet of young and old
The mighty thunder on the earth
As we hope for second birth.