You came, not for those full of good cheer,
Or those endowed with generosity and human kindness,
Or those who have learned the True Meaning of Christmas,
But for us who weep under the world's weight,
Who scrape and slave to keep the lights on,
Or have fat retirement accounts and empty hearts,
For the lonesome mother at the kitchen sink
Scrubbing a shitstained onesie and wondering
How everything ended up like this,
For the lovetorn poet
Who has tried for years to see the point of it all --
Any point at all -- and keeps coming up short,
For all who wander in darkness,
Overwhelmed and overwrought,
Outdone by chaos that seems inescapable.
You are the point of this pointless world,
The still center of this swirling mess,
The true promise in a sea of disappointment,
The deliverance of a travailing world,
The only answer that makes any sense,
The way out,
The way up,
The fullness that will cure
Our hollow hearts.
