Tristan Robert Lange

Strolling Down Christmas Lanes

So many love to stroll down Christmas lanes

To the North Pole where elves and reindeer play,

Or perhaps to their dreams of candy canes,

Peppermint flavored, where they lick away.

Those sugar-plum fancies dancing in head,

Along with teeth chattering in the cold,

As we tell ghost tales that raise up the dead,

Or those Santa stories that are ne’er old.

Then the glitter, the glamor—the sparkling lights—

All shimmering like stars up in the sky,

Or the ice that looks black on those cold nights

Where we’re tucked in and there’s no risk to die.

These are the things our memories will speak,

While we forget those things that make us weak.

II.

While we forget those things that make us weak,

We stroll down a fancy, holiday street

Where shoppers shop and neighbors stand to speak,

Even as the frost permeates their feet.

The soft, white snow blustering all around

As the kids drop to swipe angels in snow,

Building puff people with snow from the ground,

And call them “men” because what do girls know?

We scurry all around, from store to store,

Remembering all those goodies we had

When we were young, so we keep buying more,

As we don’t want our kids to think they’re bad.

We buy dolls for girls and, for the boys, trains,

While children starve and no one ever gains.

III.

While children starve and no one ever gains,

We prepare for the coming holidays.

We get busy remembering, which pains,

The cards needing to be sent in a daze.

All of the activities we attend,

From German markets to Santa’s toy shop,

We sing festive carols—make music mend

Our broken hearts from where the pieces drop.

We all tell ourselves we are seeking peace,

Good will toward all and freedom for all lands,

As our consumption of this world won’t cease,

So we can scoop up all the latest brands.

This is why our kids future is so bleak,

Something to cover up—Shhh!—dare not speak.

IV.

Something to cover up—Shhh!—dare not speak,

This is one of two times we fill churches

In our annual ascent to the peak,

Where we hide the truth of what lurches.

Beneath the surface of shallow lives

We get lost in the nostalgia we miss,

Like a bear getting lost in sweet bee hives,

We think our ignorance will give us bliss.

We coo and swoon over a little babe

Born in a manger all those years ago,

While we peck and gore the truth like a rabe

Eating carrion frozen in the snow.

The snow all around us is oozing red;

We close our eyes and keep our own ones fed.

We close our eyes and keep our own ones fed,

Gathering around tables filled with food

So glorious it could feed more than tread

The halls in our homes where music sets mood.

Where bows of holly and mistletoe hang,

The folks try to steal away some kisses,

While little drummer boys start with a bang

And the TV weather always misses.

Over the mantle dry frozen stockings,

While chestnuts roast on an open fire,

Crackling away, while dulling those knockings

Of distant wassailers whose songs inspire

To bring drink and include them in the fold.

No, we won’t let strangers in from the cold.

VI.

No, we won’t let strangers in from the cold,

For we fear all those things we cannot know.

We fear what we might lose and growing old,

So we hoard our presents and never grow.

We tell our kids of jolly ol’ Saint Nick,

How he is careful to check his long list

To reward the good and give bad a trick,

And we hope that our young ones get the gist.

Meanwhile, we scream at each other in line

Because we’ve got to get the best deals first,

We cuss as we pinch ourselves with the twine,

Holding trees to car tops ready to burst.

We honk at those cars whose taillights are red,

While we hear songs of world peace snuffing dread.

VII.

While we hear songs of world peace snuffing dread,

And those sugar-plumbs dance in our own minds.

The homeless and hungry still go unfed

As we cozy up behind shuttered blinds.

Forever fans for the sappy movies

That show us the love we will never have,

We pretend we are a bunch of newbies,

Naive to the fact some have only half.

Half of the resources, half of the love,

Some people live with half of everything—

Or less, honestly—yet that fact we shove

Out the window where it won’t ever sting.

We act like we all are so very bold,

Though we are all afraid of growing old.

VIII.

Though we are all afraid of growing old

And we wish for products that make us young,

We forget those whose advanced ages told

Of times when our values were better sung.

Not that perfection was ever that near,

Not at all—we’ve never really been close—

In fact, back then there was still much to fear,

Where racists and sexists were bellicose.

And, actually, so they still are today,

They run rampant in our streets where hope laid—

It laid there once as light in skies of gray,

Yet, only evil seems to e’er get paid.

As we sit with our families throughout nights

Where our secrets haunt us with many frights.

IX.

Where our secrets haunt us with many frights,

We find ourselves lost with nowhere to go,

So we shop, we church, and please our delights

Drawing those smiley faces in the snow.

We tuck our children inside their li’l beds.

If they’re boys, we love them and show them joy,

But for girls, we cut their hopes in shreds,

And we shun any found with the wrong toy.

We worship a porcelain baby doll,

And ignore the King who will ‘ever reign.

We sing of carols of Herod’s own fall

While we fuck up the world as Christ’s own bane.

We pray to God and then we wonder why,

Our prayers are unanswered from the sky.

Our prayers are unanswered from the sky

From the God we’ve otherwise forsaken—

No, I’m not speaking of those who ask why,

Nor from those who religion was taken.

I’m not speaking of those who don’t believe,

Nor those from other types of religions;

Rather, I speak to those who have received

Baptism and taken Christ’s provisions.

You are the ones who should be reflecting

On what you believe and whether you’re fake;

Whether your prayers are really respecting

Of God’s will, or they’re a mistake.

Yes, these words come off as harsh as frost bites,

Because the truth puts our sin in bright lights.

XI.

Because the truth puts our sin in bright lights

We lash at those who bring the message;

Yet, that exposes further our own frights

And shows that our faith is a mere vestige.

The cracks in our own walls become exposed—

Like the Krampus in Santa’s goodie bag,

The Christ we had hoped for we’ve now opposed—

The shroud we’ve clung to is rendered a rag.

It’s a shame, really, that most miss the point

And spirit of Christmas altogether,

Like they’re snorting coke while toking a joint;

Their logic is bound in skulls of leather.

Let me tell you now that this is no lie.

Friend, it’s our sin that causes us to die.

XII.

Friend, it’s our sin that causes us to die,

And by sin, I do not mean those you judge,

For that sin is the worst of all, I cry,

For you are no god and God’s throne won’t budge.

So go right ahead, if you really want to,

And with you bring all of your “holy” friends,

Return to your household of Christmas blue,

Where dreams are crushed and there are no amends.

Take your time, for there really is no rush,

Enjoy the cocoa and the ‘mallow puffs.

Add the whipped cream to the top in a gush,

And snuggle on a pillow someone fluffs.

Because it’s so hard to go ‘gainst the grains,

People put numbing egg nog in their veins.

XIII.

People put numbing egg nog in their veins,

Loaded with rum to wash away their blues,

While they speed on down those memory lanes

Making judgments without those shoes

That they were so privileged not to wear,

Because they had all of the fancy toys,

Or at least their parents had love to spare,

Whether they were cis or trans, girls or boys.

Not all of the kids have such joyful luck,

And some great families do largely without,

While most go on without giving a fuck.

Ooh, with that kind of language comes the pout.

People only seek to go with the grains,

Rather than walking on holier planes.

XIV.

Rather than walking on holier planes,

Such a lonely place for one to e’er trod,

Most of society blindly abstains

From turning their hearts to the ways of God.

Yet, “a city shining” they say we are,

Shouting across the world from our mics,

While we drink our charity at the bar

And advertise it on TV to tikes.

Are we on your goody-good list Santa,

For the sins we’ve so neatly tucked away,

Do you see us as smooth as a manta,

Or will you deliver coal this cold day?

Will you deliver us from icy rains?

So many love to stroll down Christmas lanes.

XV.

So many love to stroll down Christmas lanes,

While we forget those things that make us weak,

While children starve and no one ever gains,

Something to cover up—Shhh!—dare not speak.

We close our eyes and keep our own ones fed—

No, we won’t let strangers in from the cold,

While we hear songs of world peace snuffing dread—

Though we are afraid of growing old.

Where our secrets haunt us with many frights,

Our prayers are unanswered from the sky

Because the truth puts our sin in bright lights;

Friend, it’s our sin that causes us to die.

Rather than walking on holier planes,

So many love to stroll down Christmas lanes.