The Beggar at the Door

I wrote this poem at around Christmas time. It is about remembering those less-well off in society, those whom we should care for. Christmas is a Christain holiday, it is about acting Christain at Christmas...

A collective sigh rolled in the room,

Through the whole of the house,

The dishes lay clean, the dinner was eaten;

Left-overs on the side ready for Boxing Day.

Party hats clinging to tired brows,

And the trees arms lay aged and forlorn.

 

Then comes a knocking upon the door,

The sleeping wake bewildered and angry.

As the cold blows in through the open door,

A beggar stands before them.

His clothes are ragged and cold and torn,

Yet the beggar wears an angelic face

And the stars form a halo behind his head.

 

Silence speaks from the beggars face,

As his lips curl into a child’s smile.

His hair runs like streams of grey,

Flowing over the rocky stubble on his face.

They beckon the beggar in, out of the night,

Out of the bleak, dark night into the light.

But the beggar shakes his head.

The beggar has a message.

This message seemed familiar to them all,

But they couldn’t remember why.

I have a gift, he began, and I want little in return;

Remember the tale of the manger,

Where all of this began.

Feel that chill blow through the stable,

Feel Mary shiver, like a beggar on the street.

Let the winter babe in, let him sit with you.

Let him wrap his arms around you, make you warm.

 

Remember those who still lie in the cold,

Those dressed like I; those in need.

They need your gift from you,

The gift of your heart’s warmth.

They will eat with me this Christmas,

Will they eat with you?

 

The angelic man had a shining face,

It was brighter than any Christmas lights.

He waved goodbye to their varied faces.

Some nodded, some cried, some hid their eyes.

His halo glowed bright around his angel face

As he walked out into the starlight.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed