Of Death and Christmas

Of Death and Christmas
 
That the cypress is
an evergreen is fitting.
The bend and shake-
in nature's celebratory breath-
of the festive skirts that
give a deadly prick.
The green that can last for always
for it knows not to shirk
a darker tone and winter.
 
To draw the right spirit in,
and draw the others away.
Sentry; green, yet seasoned.
Tall and proud and present
amidst the aisles of the expired;
backdrop to every upright slab
of a shrine.
Or to be the display itself.
 
A hint of the everlasting,
to grow our gratitude and peace.
Scattered beneath the tree,
tokens of esteem. While others stare
at the cold stones receiving
tokens of grief.
 
A green chopped off from
life support-
all too soon to be brown-
twinkles with life.
No ignis fatuus, or anything fatal, but-
these fairy lights, they burn,
just as spectral lights
burn over somber vigil.
 
On and on, the seasons form a ring.
Rather like infinity,
rather like an evergreen.