Christmas Eve. Two thousand years ago, at a time of war and strife and moral civilizational collapse, a child was born. But war and strife and moral collapse are endemic. Is it possible there has been more than one child? Is it possible we are ready for another?

 

At dusk, the wood in bold relief

A tiny fire breaks the night

Keeping warm a newborn son

His face seen dimly in the light

What wonders will you see, my son

His father asked the sleeping child

What will befall us, you and I

With all about us cruel and wild

I pray the gods will keep us safe

I pray that one day peace will come

And strangers will not take our lives

With happiness for all, not some

And yet in dreams I see a world

A distant land that eons hence

Will trust in nothing but itself

And scorn the thought of innocence

A brave new world my vision sees

Where life is nothing at its core

Where hollow men toil not at all

And satisfaction cries for more

I see a world of death, my son

Where babies are discarded live

Where dawn and dusk are not observed

And life is lived from nine to five

I do not like these dreams, I fear

That they are portents of what will

Be fashioned of our golden land

And yet I feel there is time still

To right the path, to chart the course

It takes but one to give the nod

To take the reins and by his will

Return the people to their God

The fire’s low, the night has come

And with the night the beast comes near

But I am with you, standing guard

Sleep soundly son, your Father’s here