it’s not even bloody,
no crimson, no stains,
nothing is torn, or ripped.
yet it’s tunes turn to horror,
the longer they last.
running for weeks,
more than 6 weeks a year
the suicide rate skyrockets
and families dismantle.
the season of love,
no bitterness allowed.
we all should just cherish
the big ol’green tree.
traditions rooted
far older than the church
yet claimed to be theirs
only an adopted idea.
after all you can love it
if you stay sane
keep the business out ya mind
and celebrate without fear.