Not exactly a Christmas theme, but hey, I'm not a Christian, so sue me. Still, it's sort of in line with the "time of newness and change" archetype.
No insurance exists against a world's collapse,
nor for a mind's explosion.
Inspiration strikes from afar like lightning
yet it's her thunder that roars its way up the valley
dropping rocks and shaking foundations,
and always there is a desire
to shudder with it, to feel that release.
Erosion is the way of this universe--
so long sprung
from its tiny, broken seed--
that sigh of relief as things crack and crash down:
stars reduce to dusty worlds and life,
the cities to rubble and regrowth.
Left alone, everything hollows itself out
and becomes hallowed.
Yet still, trapped in these ancient
trajectories of accepted limits
and humbled dreams, encircled by the mind
and its passed down patterns,
there remains an empty clench of ideas,
white-knuckled disbelief and depravity,
while eternities spin behind the sky
and mythic roots dig deep below, swelling in darkness,
crawling unseen among sleeping foundations,
the tendrils of a bygone hope extending
as they always have, and waiting.
It's but a question of being foolish enough
to fall from these sterile crags of deserted life,
to abandon all hope of soaring
with the vultures long awaited,
instead to tremble and fail and find with fresh sight
that the one spark that sets to fire whole worlds
happens here, in the striking together
of hidden thoughts in the darkness of a mind.