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Santa Claus is Fraud
I sit here in this secluded place, hoping that Santa would knock on my gate, but every wind that blows drifts my boat further away from the shore and the summer in my heart keeps exploding in the dark and the roaring waves toss the boat further into the sea forcing destiny to sign an emergency executive decree.
I have been stuck in this place for two thousand and thirteen days without an explanation of why you are late; you keep changing the date and casting more shadows in my face ; the wind temperature rises, and changes course and I watch destiny floating all over the sky and the moon gets smaller.
Every ship that shows up at sea propel further away from my destiny and the courage that is bottled up inside leaves me linger on the side, where must I go or who shall contact when you continue to ignore my hearts call; you use the weak and vulnerable to stir up trouble and the burden gets heavier but my future gets brighter.
I have worked my heart out for you, and all I need is an extra pull to get out of the lions mouth. I want to leave this place and travel the world before it’s too late. I hate the smell of this place and the dogs that keeps barking at the gate, the sound of the siren disrupts my dreams and hunger and starvation makes my body lean and when the sun is hot, I have to pour water all over my head and soak my feet in salt water.
The morning and the evening appear to be one and I can hear strange sounds rumbling in the deep and the days and the month’s creep slowly away from me.
This is not a place for anyone to linger, I can’t even take a shower. I have to splash water over my skin from a small paint pan I brought back from the gym; it is the part that you did not see that will rock your mind with mystery.
I have no proper place to lay my head and the crucifix keeps dangling above my head, it is the guardian angels that are protecting me from an evil omen that washed up from the sea; and when the night hour has come, I can hear the lost souls at sea crying for their friends and family as they try to make their way back to their physical home.
Thousands of bodies without head gather in the sea of the dead cluster together in one pack, holding a candle as the wade through the water and move towards the shore, they have been traveling for many years to get to land; you don’t know where they are from but Santa will lead each of them to their rightful home and the pain and struggle will cease.
Copyright ©
Christine Phillips
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