The sky grew still, as if it paused to think,
Then marked a point no crown had ever claimed;
A needle of bright fire, precise and thin,
By which the wandering dark was gently named.
It did not blaze like power on display,
Nor shout commands to kneeling earth below;
It taught the night a quieter way—
That light can lead by where it chooses to go.
Across the dunes, through doubt and distance drawn,
The wise men learned to trust a fragile gleam;
Their steps aligned to hope before the dawn,
Their charts rewritten by a humble dream.
The map it made led not to wealth or throne,
But straw and breath and love made flesh and bone.
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Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: December 18th, 2025 10:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan
Offline)
Comments3
What a lovely Christmas poem so well written with clever wording and images it retells a most famous story. Loved it
The birth of JC, which can't be a bad thing, I'm sure Orchi would agree.
Simple birth, big statement.
A great sonnet writ about a lovely legend.
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