Egg Shells

Christmas is where I find my joy,
among the gifts and childish wonder...
And sounds of a little drummer boy
praising the Son with wondrous thunder.

Before He was torn to shreds and mocked
Before He was betrayed and left asunder.
Before He was denied by those closest beside

Before He died.

And no amount of miracles can ever hide...
The despair, the misery...
The broken hope that once used to be
Nestled below the Christmas tree.

For Easter is and has always been
But a poor consolation prize to me...

Yet still I smile and will to mingle
for deep inside I can hear the bells
from days of joy and ol' Kris Kringle
drumming hope among the shells.