A Cold Christmas

Put me on your door.

Hang me up

Like a Christmas wreath.

With dark red bows

And seasons greetings.

Let my blood stain the seasonal curtains on the door.

Let everyone gaze at the dramatic 

Yet subtle beauty.

Have carolers sing

By my body.

Let the church ladies gossip 

in their festive colored dresses.

Let the elderly morn 

with their casseroles.

Let the children tell

Stories in my name.

And when visitors come 

Let me be the first

Thing they see.

The first thing they see through

all the decorations and

Warm cups of egg nog.

Let me be the first tear shed

On this cold Christmas Eve.