You must have had your own dreams
the life you always thought you’d lead
the roads you wanted to follow
the secret victories
But God sent you an angel
with his monster’s wings
heavy with heaven’s incense
blue and red, gold and green
And when he finished speaking
this world had turned unreal
the walls around you paper
the sky itself a spell
and singing through it all
the strains of a song
that burned the world with a blue flame
as you began to sing along
but the world was not consumed
only changed
the angel’s wings shone like the sun
the walls faded away
a shepherd became a king
a king became a child
the dead laughed and the lame danced
as the rich men cried
and all the dreams you’d called your own
glowed, then turned to ash
and you nodded your head
and the angel vanished
and left your dreams at your feet
like the cinders they always were
but buried there among them
was a crown made from stars.
--Carey Wallace
Christmas tidings from the Arts Ministry staff. Thank you, Carey, for sharing the first part of your Christmas poem with our readers. Carey Wallace is the author of The Blind Contessa's New Machine.
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