The Christmas Wraith

In Providence Heights, a town of much faith,
Where people hustled and bustled around
And time flew on by like a Christmas wraith,
There was a boy for whom hope was unbound.

He had heard all the stories of a King
Who was laid in a stable’s feeding trough
Where the animals ate—this babe did sing
In coos of love—a little sneezing cough.

This child grew into an adult, you see,
And remembered the babe from childhood dreams.
As such, he pushed people to remain free
Of judgments on people outside the beams

Of safety; the walls on which, steeples raised,
Have provided comfort to those within;
However, those who “had” were the ones praised
To the needy outsider’s blank chagrin.

So that made this young man look all around
And the more he did he could not believe
How praises of the Christ rose from the ground
While for “Christ in the poor” there’s no reprieve.

Within the town’s walls, steeples rose so high
With smells and bells and ginger cake
Wafting around and lights bright’ning the sky;
An idyllic scene this always did make.

Outside the city’s walls the darkness laid
And so the bold, young man had a hard sell,
As the religious people were afraid
That they would fall under darkness’s spell.

Perhaps, the man thought, they were very right;
Still, his conscience guided his deepest prayers—
His heart praying for the outsider’s plight,
And hoping they were not caught unawares.

The foreboding sky               darkened above and
Below, within the             very streets that
The cheerful music      rang on through;
Yet, still, the people reveled ignorantly
To the fact that one larger than their
Fears was on his way to repay them 
For their so-called pious—callous —
Actions, sins, that  have been hidden
In stark, plain view  among people who
Should totally know    better than they say
They do. God wasn’t         at all fooled by them
And, so, with tons of	         haste, a helper was sent.

The Krampus caught that town very unaware,
As he moved and  jingle-jangled around;
His hairy hide and his horns were laid bare.

There was a rumbling all throughout the ground
As the tall goat-like beast dragged ‘round his chains
Making a grating, metallic, death sound.

The Krampus caught that town grossly unaware—
Their screams arising out of every house—
His brownish hair and his horns were laid bare.

The townspeople, confused as a lost mouse
They could not understand why he’d picked them—
Why he had invaded both church and house.

Yes! Krampus caught that town very unaware!
Yet outside, in the dark, stayed so quiet.
Krampus’s hair and his horns were laid bare

Not to darkness, but to the lamp’s riot
Against the light that gave abundant life—
Not to hoard or to keep as their own diet.

The Krampus caught that town very unaware—
The pious hypocrites were gnashing teeth—
His hairy hide and his horns were laid bare. 

The flames engulfing each and every wreath
Produced a hot smoke of the blackest pitch
Rising as if it were coming from the heath.

Yes! Krampus caught that town very unaware—
All but the young man were taken to hell.
Krampus’s hair and dark horns were laid bare

“But we are saved!” they chimed out like a bell—
The beast’s laugh bellowed down into the pit
As he jumped in and, from there, they all fell.

The Krampus caught that town grossly unaware—
His hairy hide and his horns were laid bare
To a town that ignored the call to quell
The sin in their hearts and, so, there they fell.

Poet's Note: 
This experimental poem blends the Ballad, Shape, and Terzanelle forms and is written in Pentameter.

© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First Published on MyPoeticSide, December 20, 2024.