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About This Author
A changeling spirit,
constantly evolving,
revolving around an inner core,
spinning forth legend and lore,
stories and lives
as I come to grips
with who and what I am,
have been and may be.
I am a phoenix:
rising ever above and beyond!
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The Christmas Angel The Christmas Angel
Late one night in the toy store
the old man trimmed his tree
with all his love
and all his skill
with toys carved through his artistry.
Little toy soldiers at attention stood
guarding the Christmas Spirit.
Golden bells
chimed their song
so true that you could feel it.
Mr. Angelino was his name-
pure white of hair and brow.
A size-less man,
with calloused hands
who answered questions of why and how.
In front of the crackling fireplace
(that burned the whole year through)
he'd carve and talk;
inspire and dream,
telling marvelous stories he'd swear were true!
His fingers caressed a piece of wood
as he sat in his hand-carved rocking chair
waiting for an idea to come
as to what it could be
with a nick here or there.
I used to love the toyshop-
I always felt at home; secure.
He always knew
when life was wrong. . .
and when it was, he'd find a cure.
Until one day I didn't go in,
instead I passed him by
and although he'd come
to the door and watch
he never pressed for why.
Summer heat baked leaves to brown,
Autumn cooled, then snowflakes flew.
I turned to my writing,
to books, to dreams
and never guessed the old man knew
the problems that tormented me so,
the teasing the teacher's pet had received
and without my ever breathing a word
Mr. Angelino's cure
was thus conceived.
I was the odd-girl-out in town
for some reason different from the very start.
I was teased about my name,
how I dressed and my grades:
I felt so strange and very apart.
Just when every girl needs to feel pretty
a head-on collision wept colors dim--
clear glass
blocking out the light--
bandages and scars; without and within.
Kids are cruel, they don't understand.
Unable to cherish what it meant to see
and so they laughed
and teased and joked
at the glasses I wore, and so at me.
Every year at the toy store
the old man trimmed his Christmas tree.
Every year
he carved a new angel
to crown the top for all to see.
He must have had fifty
from previous years; each one a masterpiece.
All of them different,
all of them carved;
each one a herald of Christmas Peace.
He waited until Christmas Eve
to light his tree that year
and all the people crowded
'round his store
singing songs of joy and cheer.
While they waited together:
I stood there alone on the side
being pelted with snowballs.
Torn: needing to be there,
yet wanting to hide.
Wondering why after all these months
I was still being teased about my glasses thick.
Then a deep expectancy
stilled the crowd
as Mr. Angelino lit the candle's wick.
I heard the crowd murmur in delight,
saw fingers pointed at the tree
and simply
couldn't understand
when everyone turned to look at me.
The crowd parted, leaving a path
so I could go closer, so I could see.
Feeling foolish,
embarrassed, scared,
I walked to the window and saw his tree.
Suddenly I understood
and lifted my head up high.
Someone began singing "Silent Night"
and outside the toy store
joy was nigh!
There on top of the Christmas Tree
carved with a message for the masses
was a beautiful, smiling angel
wearing
a thick pair of glasses!
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© Copyright 2005 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com).
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