A Christmas Story
Author: Mark Spencer
Michael was a workaholic,
A master of his trade.
His services were in demand,
For which he was well paid.
While working late one Christmas Eve,
A stranger came to call.
The man was dressed like Santa Claus,
And wasn't small at all.
Feeling quite intimidated,
Mike opened a desk drawer.
He grabbed the gun he'd hidden there,
"I'll shoot!" he boldly swore.
But the man kept right on coming,
He did not break his stride.
The gun didn't seem to faze him,
Nor did he try to hide.
Mike fired the gun at point blank range,
The bullet hit the wall.
And the man dressed as Santa Claus,
Was not injured at all.
He said, "That gun will do no good.
You can't harm Santa Claus.
I'm the patron saint of children,
Unbound by earthly laws."
Then Mike began to pinch himself.
Thinking: "this can't be true!
Saint Nicholas is just a myth,
I don't believe in you!"
Santa Claus leaned across the desk,
And looked Mike in the eye.
"Do you think I didn't know that?
Listen to my reply."
"I live for those who understand,
What Christmas is about.
I'm real to those who still believe.
But not for those who doubt."
"Then why have you appeared to me?"
Mike quickly asked Saint Nick.
"I've never believed in Christmas,
Is this some kind of trick?"
"It's true that you do not believe,
And claim to care for none.
But Mike, you are the only thing,
Requested by your son."
"He didn't ask for any toys,
As many children do.
His only wish of me this year,
Was Christmas day with you."
"And that's why I've come here tonight,
To open up your eyes,
To the true spirit of Christmas,
That's where the magic lies."
"It's a contract each parent signed,
When their children believed.
To aid me in this noble quest,
So their wish is received."
"But I have too much work tonight,
My son lives far away!"
"Michael, that is why I've come here,
To take you on my sleigh."
"But before my job is finished,
I've one thing left to do."
Santa handed Mike a suitcase.
Said, "I packed this for you."
Then they landed on a sidewalk,
Beside his ex-wife's house.
The home that he had shared with her,
When she was still his spouse.
The sun was rising in the sky,
When Mike tapped on the door.
He hoped that they were still in bed,
As footsteps crossed the floor.
His little boy opened the door,
And grabbed Mike by both legs.
His mom appeared and asked him in,
She'd made bacon and eggs.
Mike could feel the Christmas spirit,
The first he could recall.
And in the sky above, he heard,
"Merry Christmas to all!"
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Megan (220.127.116.11) -- Monday, December 25 2006, 11:35 pm|
What an amazing message! I love this!
|Bipedalguy (18.104.22.168) -- Tuesday, December 26 2006, 12:18 am|
It's just what I needed to hear. I was beginning to doubt the existance of Santy.
It's a great write.
|barb (22.214.171.124) -- Tuesday, December 26 2006, 12:50 am|
Topday is a day that everyone should feel good The givers for giving ,and the receivers for getting what they needed.
|barb (126.96.36.199) -- Tuesday, December 26 2006, 03:08 am|
not my writing lol but wish it was very nice Mark
|Meridian (188.8.131.52) -- Sunday, December 31 2006, 04:44 am|
You're always dynamite Mark. Bravo once again Mark. Great storyline. Your poems always make me show all thirt-two's.
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