Solstice of the Ancient World

December is a barest month.

Vegetation lying flat on the meadows.
Muddy lanes mirroring pink skies.
The weak world, tipped into dark.

Christmas trees are done up,
Like streetwalkers, waiting for a light.
Listening to the clack of heels
On wet, uneven paving slabs.

This was the old Aegean world.

The psalms of Susa alien to its ears.
No power could overcome, no love,
Could move the hearts of men.

The world was hard December.
Dark dreams on the lapping shores.
Wine songs, respite from the occult
Victory of the moon.

Then a single star rose in the West.
Powers shrank back : a child!
Dominions of the darkness
Aimed to kill him, whispering….

He can make the fevered nights
Wholesome, sweeten dreams.

He has power to melt the flint heart,
Pour flesh, make ventricles.

He has power to bless, set free
From evil, the sons of men.
Lift up the bowed and crippled
Trapped in our invisible net.

He can make the World
Turn on its axis, with desire.
Head towards the rising Sun,
Wake from its chains and live...