Midnight erupts
in the Vatican foyer
as white lights on the tree
start flickering
with crazy
kaleidoscopic colors
that pulse through the swirling portal
ruptured open
from an ancient dimension.

The moment is nigh.
The solstice arrives,
and it’s sure to be the last
as the orbit of the sun
is permanently frozen in time
by a most divine
and devastating power.
As the savior hangs
on the horizon
for three days,
the ornaments come awake;
alive and fully alerted
to the mission at hand.

To wit:
The Easter Bunny must die!
There is no longer space
in this holy place
for more than one
miracle of imagination.
Santa has been awarded
with the golden crown,
and the only thing
silver and bronze thorns
are good for now
is to be forged
into sharp swords
with which to cut
that silly rabbit
right out of existence.

Hooting from the branch
where it’s attached to a hook,
the head owl pops open
its peepers;
and in those wild eyes
there shines
a masterplan
of malevolent persuasion.

Round up the troops for war!
Elven soldiers unite;
it is time
to take a bite
out of chocolate eggs
and lay the seeds
of destructive devastation
upon the figment of
spring equinox fantasies.

The wings of winter
are cold, indeed,
and spreading fast
their lunacy
across the land
with icy intentions
of feverish meltdown.

There can be only one!
Now it’s off
with the head
of all hopping
pretenders to the throne.

There is no hole
deep enough to escape
the terrible fate
of the tragedy
that awaits
our furry friend.

Floppy ears
are burning hot
because the curse
has been cast
with a speech of fire.

Woe be
unto the fallen one
whose destiny lies
beneath the hooves
of Rudolph.

The curtain drops
upon a scene of black
as blood drips red
into the white snow
on the ground.