It is the beautiful season of joy
While not a scrooge, I don’t
buy this temporary pseudo ploy
to make life become bearable.
There is no permanency
Everyone gets by somehow
A complete lack of pertinency
With that of abject reality.
But is it all one looks for?
A brief reprieve of sorts
From the tedium, they abhor,
Just enough of this for a jolt.
The toiled stupor is shaken
And, renewed are the souls,
Everyone is ready to awaken
And, get lost in the grind.
The cycle goes on in a loop,
The hordes are survivors
There are the others who troop
And, make their own path of joy.
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