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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Christmas Eve

It is Christmas Eve.
The Christ Mass of birth.
The hard nugget of purity
in each of us.
A life conceived in the same country
as ourselves.
Christmas Eve in the dank dark
of Viet Nam.
The grassy gold Savannah of Africa,
the brooding planet of the Taiga,
with its two thousand leagues
that wears out the heart of a journey.
And the celebration of a Jew’s birth
with the light of our humanity.

A dream stronger than a pyramid,
The nativity of the human family
and the myths that grow in our gardens.
How warm the windows glow
in the darkness.
My street in a continent of cities
becoming in the dark
the spirit of Christmas inside me.
I listen for the sound of waltzes,
breathing,
raucous laughter,
and add another sky
resplendent with waves rocking the universe,
and our little brother
born with nothing
but his heart beating a song.

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