Longing

Advent is a time of year
When the strings of the violin are too taut,
Faithful everywhere are worn,
And tired of each day’s toilsome lot.

Hearts writhe in fearsome rest
Lingering in the world’s heavy skepticism
Gasping air of lasting life
And forbidding each step into life’s rhythm.

Just wait another day or two,
What everyone’s longing for is coming.
The world’s dark cynicism waits
To be conquered, by a Love real and all-stunning.

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