Sweet... so sweet at first; as if intending to overbear, and then in a moment's breath, the intensity having mellowed fades.

Next one's tongue does greet, a nuttiness that begs it to retreat; reviving dead memories of when you two first did meet.

Having now fallen from heights, be they ***** or steep; the taste of your tongue becomes bittersweet. Ending this final kiss, silently pledging to lose neither hope nor sleep; heartbreak leaves the taste of caramel upon your teeth.

Gaze not at your Christmas tree, nor the many wrapped gifts laid there beneath. For what ever they may be, the greatest gift of Christmas, was long ago bequeathed.

On that cold night in Bethlehem, was born him without sin, Emmanuel, the Promised One, did the people call him. O do you hear the angels herald and sing: "Glory to the King of Kings."

O, what priceless gifts have ye. Of which, how many may set your spirit free? Silver, Gold, precious gems and jewellery, though all are good within none salvation be.

So on this one night promise me, that you'll forget your hams and turkeys, sweet wines, rums and brandies. For Christmas should be more than a feast, festival, or fair, it should be a time of reflection of yesteryear; accepting one's losses, and appreciating one's gains. And most of all remembering Christ for whom, the day is named.

And I'll promise you, after all this pain, a Christmas that you will believe: Could never be the same!

What is love and true? What is more perfect than You? The perfect Lamb, without blemish or shame, into the darkness with light, You had came. O blessed be Your sweetest name; a name at whose sounding does heal the lame. O what other given name, king's or commoner's may do the same?

The greatest gift for Christmas was long ago bequeathed; given by Jesus Christ, our Lord, that all might receive. So please, accept His charity; and from sin be free... and be on this Christmas day, truly merry.

I gazed through my window, to the field of Summer's green below, releasing a sigh, more akin to a moan; for having been born to this tropical paradise, I have never seen fields of snow and ice.

The Capital bustles, with crowds I'm sure, those legions advancing towards all stores; thoughtless exhausting the coin that they had for all year stored.

So this Christmas now, a feast and a fair; a chance for children to have a hundred toys, ninety-nine of which will never be played with again.

I suppose that's fine, go on then and dine, dye you glasses red with the decadence of wine. Feast! Feast till you are merry and fat; eat all on your plate, and I won't begrudge you that.

All I want for this Christmas are my kin, my friends. To have them near, anything I would gladly trade.

This page is too vast of an estate; too generous of an allowance, for my meagre heartache. Perhaps another language would do, employing whose alien words; My heart's entirety concisely expressed in such characters, though they be but a few.

Stone cold... these are the affection of my bed, nestled beside the fireplace, upon stone cold I lay my head; your warmth it no longer knows.

The longevity of nights have passed; now cruel and aching memories are your laughs; now, before my hearts retrieves its mask, a final kiss to you, my past.