Proverbs on the Aftermath:

Clouds carry over, their wrinkled faces hung with desperateness
and the quake of alcohol;
for if there’s sun-reluctant, it counts the hours until setting;
if light, it raises not an august day.

As the morning convening in the wake of doomsday,
wallows the morn of celestial colic;
for the angels yawn with restless wings;
there is no hymn for the shadow-day of birth.

How is the majesty of the Christ wrapped
within a single day?
Even so, salvation’s feast is shorter
than even three days of its making.

For the portents have been given
and the tidings heralded among nations:
once joined in peace, now they vie for privilege
of the sons and daughters of favor.

Now, on this, morning of the day after Christmas,
we abandon the charity of the season;
we return to ourself and our own;
we are self and same, made of choice:

When tired and troubled, then we shall pray.