The rhythm’s sound, a beauteous, flitting guise
The spirit found imprints upon the minds,
The songs of birth and life do well disguise,
The horrid death and strife time soon unwinds.
For fist the night He came held naught of peace,
True silence, beau’teous dame did not appear,
For He, divine, did come as peace decreased,
His birth did shine in crowded city’s fear. (fear of not getting a place to stay)
His life was meant to save the sinful mass,
To Earth was sent a man condemned to die,
His horrid bloody pain did come to pass,
He washed the horrid stain so man could fly.
Now men of young and old enjoy the day,
Yet Christmas story told was hardly gay. (gay = happy here)
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written December 24, 2006