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Christmas star








You know, Lord... I used to have my Hope.

It was so nice to stand next to the Christmas tree

with my mother,

and look at its proud top,

where our silver star shone,

my favorite Hope.

To me, a child who never decorated his own tree,

it was the biggest Christmas tree in the world,

and the brightest star beyond the heavenly dome.

Each night before Christmas we would return to the same place

with the same desire and faith,

until our terrible companions, the long, cold nights;

have invoked death,

and stolen my mother.

I am motionlessly standing and staring into this dark, cold night,

like an avenger yearning for revenge,

and a thin woman in rags is passing me by,

whispering warm words into a child's frozen ear.

The child is looking up with the same gaze

like I did when my mother used to show me the silver star,

whispering into my frozen ear

that someday I shall touch that silver star too,

silvering all the orphanages of this world.

Her warm words are still crossing my mind:

„Son, always stand on your toes and look up...

and you shall touch your star!“

My eyes have long since stopped sparkling

and they don't look up.

They used to be the big, bright eyes of a child,

that shone in the dark,

like two young embers that were just set afire,

but now... oh, now my eyes are but burnt out embers

in the squeezing fist of the cold world.



You know, Lord, how much I wanted to stand on my toes

and look up,

but life always threw me back to my knees.

I admit that I haven't been standing on my toes for a long time,

but I am not kneeling, either,

I am only looking down

into the dark reflections of people's characters,

and my Hope is once again so far away,

as if it's afraid of my faithful squire,

which is standing at the bottom of the silky net,

not like a flym,

but like a master of many a fly big and small,

because Death has that justified purpose

to come for its flies regardless of their size.

I am not looking at death like a fugitive,

but a penitent man,

who wants just another chance.

How strange it is, Lord,

that even a man abandoned by Hope wants his chance.

Yes, Lord, I admit

that I would like to stand on my toes once more,

below the biggest Christmas tree in the world,

and touch our silver star.


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Submitted on August 23, 2016

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Walter William Safar Claim this poet

BIOGRAPHYWALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.Many times, while escaping the real world, I used to find my sanctuary in the blissful chest of mother Art. With these poems, I am curing the hungry soul, and it hungers for compassion, love and faith, just like any human soul does.Hungry and thirsty, I am staring into the very heart of the dark spirit of my own subconscious, and I would feel betrayed for who knows how many times, only to appease my thirsty soul with a torrent of tears, because poetry is like a tear on the face of mankind.I don't know much about victories, but I am sure of one thing, that compassion is a victory of the human spirit. I wrote these Poems on an old typewriter, which I inherited from a late American writer. This wise, good man used to read poems to me when I was a kid, saying that I too will read my poems to other people, but first I shall roam the world searching for myself.I admit I no longer have the will or power to roam around, but I haven’t lost the will to write poetry. All I want is to share my poems with the whole world.THE CAPTAINImagination is the timeless sail of all words,And words only float without it,Like a windjammer without wind.Without imagination,There are no journeysInto unexplored worlds,Because the world is but a boundless ocean of desires. more…

All Walter William Safar poems | Walter William Safar Books

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