"Oh X-Mass Tree"
The dusk pulls its warmth from cold shivering trees,
The poor dears try to hold on as they stretch out their leaves.
For they know that when the sun fades on this cold winter night,
Florescent torches will fill their timbers with the iciest fright.
They come with the smell of their ancestors burned,
They come with the laughter of sap-thirsty children who yearn.
Not for the whisper of winds singing gently through the pine,
Not to get lost between memories that vein deep like a mine.
With a gargle of metal, blades, and a combustion of smoke,
The trees go down, one by one, not standing with hope.
They are tied, bleeding and raw, to the roofs of tin cars,
They are bought and sold, no longer graced under stars.
Forced into houses, whored with tinsel and light,
All to be glamorized for one Holiday night.
And as the night passes, as they are put out to pasture,
They choke on their last breaths, those poor prickly bastards.
But hey, at least they got that one awesome Christmas story,
And screw centuries of living, when you were some kid’s morning glory.