Poetry from the Sand...

Guest author today.

This is my good friend from back home, PFC Michael Fitzpatrick of the 615th Aviation Support Batallion of the 1st Cavalry.

Santa Doesn’t Come

Every other year, Santa and the Reindeer,

Live on the roof over my head,

And we’re all sincere, with our holiday cheer,

As we hang up our stockings before going to bed,

And in one night Santa pulls quite a trick,

An old, old legend inspired by St. Nick,

On a day when 2000 years ago occurred something a little stranger,

When a star’s guiding light brought three wise men to a manger,

We read that Gospel tale, and wait for Kris Kringle as well,

While the lights twinkle ‘round the Christmas tree,

And I’d snuggle under my sheets, while sugarplums danced to different beats,

Surrounded by the ones I love on a snow-covered Christmas Eve,

But if Santa Clause made a stop here,

He’d find naught a roof with eight little Reindeer,

Nor a chimney or fireplace with stockings tainted with soot,

But only a pair of worn-out brown combat boots,

A sleeping bag is there, along with a chair,

A box-spring mattress that dips in the middle,

An M16, and a thirty round magazine,

A Kevlar, a flak vest, and a half-eaten bag of Skittles,

But Santa doesn’t come by,

In this land only mortars fly,

Christmas is just another day alone,

In a desert so far away from home,

Upon that box spring lying, is a soldier who is crying,

Only a tattered uniform hugs him here,

Though sobbing he is praying, and this is what he’s saying,

His only hope revealed amidst his lonely tears,

“Dear God, because I am so far away,

I have no presents but the words I pray,

And so I ask this Christmas Eve,

If you’d deliver them for me,

“I know I haven’t been good, or acted the way I should,

But I don’t want the love in my heart to ever go out,

Every day is just more sand, and I feel like this is all I am,

It’s so hard to remember what this is all about,

“Each day I rise to battle and to fight,

But to all my enemies, I ask this holy night,

Please forgive me, for I am not any more worthy of life,

I know that you too want to return home to your kids and your wife,

“God, please let all the people here, good and bad be cheered,

Knowing that they are very special to You,

And maybe cause this war to end, when they know that I’m a friend,

We’re all people, whether Christian, Muslim, or Jew,

“God, I have thousands of comrades at arms around me,

Who tonight hear a faint jingle in their ears and are so lonely,

For are not soldiers a composite of the honorable ones?

Husbands, fathers, wives, mothers, daughters, and sons?

“Grant them peace, that their loneliness may cease,

And remembrance that they have so much to be thankful for,

As they recall each kiss, and every hug at Christmas,

May this night the scales of life reveal they are far from poor,

“God, my family and friends tonight are without me,

Please fill that absence with Your heavenly jubilee,

That though I must spend this Christmas with my platoon,

Remind them that in but a blink, I will be home soon,

“God, I ask their forgiveness, with you as my witness,

This gift to them is all I can afford,

Here, stripped of all I care about, I realized without a doubt,

I could’ve been a better son and friend to them, O Lord,

“Since tonight we are so far apart,

Maybe You could bring them my heart,

And tell them that from my toes to my head to the tip of my hands,

I love them more than the number of grains in all this sand,

“Finally God, please don’t leave me, You complete me so completely,

You’re the only friend I have to share Christmas Eve,

As I prepare to fall asleep, I hear Your echoes from the deep,

The miracle of Your grace persists, and my soul still believes,

“Good Night Lord, my prayer has taken flight,

Tomorrow is just another day, but I think now I’ll be alright,

Because I know I have an eternal friend,

Thank You, and Amen.”

The soldier let out a sigh, and the closed his eyes,

And drifted into a slumberous, restful sleep,

The tears that stained his face, by joy had been replaced,

And it wasn’t sleight bells but Divine echoes from the deep,

That reached a lonely soldier far from home on Christmas Eve.

-Michael Fitzpatrick

Christmas Eve 2004

Iraq