He's magical

like Elvis.

Like Elvis

not many know

he has a twin.

 

Embreo split like yin and yang

encompassing the universe's majesty.

Death and rebirth.

Light and dark.

Fear and love.

And all that's in-between.

 

One child playful as oompa loompas

all dancing and silly songs.

The other the underside of a scratched CD

and fag ash embers scarring

a conclave within his heart.

 

They grew up,

and grew apart.

 

Nick always remembered Dave,

And blessed him in his prosperity.

Dave's soul remained broken

though light flickered within

like the memory of the never was.

 

Nick became canonised in folklore,

Exalted in youthful, eternal love

and cherished in memories.

 

Dave lived happily

in the patch of earth

above the pits of hell.

 

Nick wore a fitting emerald suit

as fluffy as a baby bunny rabbit's dreams.

He'd whisper enchantments in the ears of reindeers,

then paint the sky with children's smiles.

 

Dave wasn't just naughty,

he was evil.

He conspired with an evil corporation

to overthrow a kingdom so flowing with love

that even empty boxes contain magic.

 

Dave stuffed Nick in a Superman sized blender,

blood and guts erupted

like the culmination of Dave's broken dreams.

 

 

Dave arrived on the scene in a blood red suit,

Whipped Blitzen and Prancer,

Barged into Nick's marital room then tried to romance her.

 

Dave put rohypnol in the glass of milk,

and marijuana in the Christmas cookies.

Kissing was just the start in the guise of old Saint Nick,

He pimped your mo with a ho ho ho,

Frankly this guy's sick.

 

Rivers of blood and misery

flow like his victim's scarlet tears.

Dave impersonated a figure of love,

to become a figure of fear.

He smiles a sick smile every year,

And I shriek when I know that Christmas's near.

 

Dave with sadistic irony,

toasts to evil with brown water

laced with death

cheers “only the real thing”.

 

Weird Al Yankovic's evidence is dismissed as a parody,

But the unlucky ones know the truth.

It's not Santa who really want crazy,

Santa's dead, disappeared, gone, poof!

 

Pope Rat endorsed this pervert's impersonation,

Because that rodent also craves subjugation.

 

Although I heard a rumour,

and I think it might be true.

If we wish hard

and dream as fluid as ever-flowing springs

Nick can be revived.

 

So wish or pray or chant or meditate,

Whatever your theology.

Let us revive the spirit of Christmas,

with a phoenix etymology.

 

Saint Nick suffered from naivety,

A fate fatal when mixed with love.

 

We can save him,

And we can save ourselves.

Without the need to look above.

 

The skies home wonder,

but we can't know the truth.

However we can make our own reality,

If we find a truth worth believing.