A Christmas Poem

The world donned its silver mantle,

A tapestry of quiet and frost-kissed dreams.

Streetlamps flickered halos through the mist,

While shadows danced in the glow of hearths—

Soft, fleeting, as if drawn from another time.

Above, the sky scattered its stardust,

Each pinpoint light a promise unbroken.

The air held its breath,

Swirling with the scent of pine and fresh-baked bread,

While the clock seemed to tick slower,

Marking the sacred minutes till the bell.

And then, like a miracle born from silence,

The choir of the heavens awoke.

Their voices cascaded through the air,

Notes weaving around rooftops,

Filling the night with harmonies that mended unseen wounds.

The snow, once still, began to spiral—

Not chaotic, but purposeful,

A dance that turned every moment into art.

In the motion, I saw the years ahead,

Lit not by the past, but the eternal now—

A gift given quietly and without condition.

In that fleeting pause, the veil thinned,

And the world felt infinite,

Bound only by the joy we dared to believe in.