"Peace Tree" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
Peace on Earth: A Vow Beyond the Season
Part I: The Midwinter Hush
Upon the weary world, a silence falls,
A velvet hush within the winter night,
No trumpet blast, no frantic bugle calls,
But soft reflections of the candle’s light.
The snow descends to blanket every street,
To mute the heavy tread of marching feet,
And for a moment, under starry skies,
The anger sleeping in the city dies.
We speak of "Peace on Earth" on this one day,
When pine and holly decorate the door,
We put the armor of our grief away,
And vow to study violence no more.
It feels so simple when the choir sings,
And when the bell inside the steeple rings;
A truce is called in every human heart,
And enemies agree to stand apart.
The hearth is warm, the cider mug is deep,
The children dream in innocence and trust,
The promises we made, we try to keep,
And brush away the cynicism’s dust.
It is a golden hour, fragile, bright,
A single candle conquering the night,
Where neighbor smiles at neighbor in the cold,
And kindness is the only hand we hold.
Part II: When the Needles Fall
But calendars are fickle, shifting things,
And December twenty-sixth must soon arrive,
The fading of the songs the angel sings,
As the machinery comes back alive.
We pack the fragile ornaments away,
The colored glass, the figures made of clay,
But often, in the boxes with the lights,
We pack away the peace of holy nights.
We strip the tree and drag it to the curb,
And with it goes the patience and the grace,
The gentle moods that nothing could disturb
Are lost within the frantic, daily race.
The horn begins to honk, the tempers flare,
The frost of judgment chills the morning air,
And "Goodwill unto men" becomes a phrase
Forgot within the maze of busy days.
Is peace a decoration we suspend?
A piece of tinsel draped upon a bough?
Something to borrow, but not ours to spend?
A temporary, fleeting, hollow vow?
If peace is only real when snow is deep,
Then it is not a promise we can keep.
Part III: The Calendar of Kindness
True peace must be a climate, not a date,
A weather pattern of the human soul,
To stand against the hurricane of hate,
And keep the fractured spirit strong and whole.
It must survive when snow begins to melt,
When thawing mud and springing grass are felt;
It must be there when flowers start to bloom,
To clear the shadows from the vernal gloom.
Let peace be present in the April rain,
Growing in the gardens of our thought,
A soothing balm upon the pulse of pain,
A battle that is settled, never fought.
Let it endure the heavy Summer heat,
When shimmering waves rise up from off the street;
When tempers rise like mercury in glass,
Let peace be like the cooling wind to pass.
And when the Autumn harvest turns to gold,
And leaves distinct and brittle start to fly,
Let not the charity of man grow cold,
Nor empathy within the spirit die.
The calendar may turn, the moon may wane,
But consideration must remain,
Not reserved for mangers and for kings,
But for the simple, ordinary things.
Part IV: The Anatomy of Peace
For peace is not the silence of the gun,
Nor just the absence of a falling bomb,
It is the work that genuinely is done
To build a center of internal calm.
It is the way we speak to those we serve,
The patience that we find, and find the nerve,
To listen when we’d rather turn away,
To find the gentle, healing thing to say.
It is the table where we break the bread
With those who vote a different way than us,
It is the words of malice left unsaid,
The quiet refusal to create a fuss.
It is the bridge we build across the divide,
With arrogance and ego left aside,
A daily conscious choice to not offend,
To see a stranger as a future friend.
It is the justice flowing like a stream,
For peace without a justice is a lie,
It is the waking from the selfish dream,
To hear the neighbor’s quiet, desperate cry.
It lives in traffic, office, school, and mart,
A constant, beating rhythm of the heart,
That says, "I see you, and I wish you well,"
And breaks the isolation of our shell.
Part V: The Eternal December
So let us keep the wreath upon the wall
Of every mind, throughout the changing year,
Let not the standard of our mercy fall,
Nor lose the vibration of the holiday cheer.
Let Christmas be a spark that starts a fire,
A burning, yearning, infinite desire,
To make the truce eternal and profound,
Where common ground is sacred, hallowed ground.
Let every morning be a manger bed,
Where hope is born anew and fresh and small,
Let every word be thoughtfully said,
Let love be not a season, but a call.
For if we keep the spirit’s lantern lit,
And tend the flame and closely guard over it,
Then we shall see, as seasons spin and flow,
A world that heals beneath the winter snow.
And peace on Earth shall not be just a rhyme,
Recited once while bells and carols ring,
But it shall be the rhythm of our time,
An everlasting song that we shall sing.
From January’s frost to August’s sun,
The work of Christmas has only just begun.
©A. Derek Catalano/ChatGPT
Related poem: A Christmas Plea for Peace
Related poem: Christmas in Nassau, Bahamas
