Santa exits!
Adulthood cannot him dismiss.
Ne'er he vanishes from the horizon of heart!
Toward triumph travels the mind thus
As each time the world rewards us!
Clad in glory-n-pomp, gilded here-n-now
Lowly gifts thus life bestows on us, crybabies
Admitted in to the nurseries of experience!
Us wise they make not, neither seraphic
Sick the rose that the worm within withers!
Pratima@ My acrostic "Santa Claus" argues that worldly gifts acquired in adulthood may taint us, as often they are (and) corrupt from within, however gilded n glitzy on the outside! How to respond to the not so sacrosanct Santa gifts which re(de)fine us not!?! That is the question of this poem with its unmistakable Blake references, and M.H.Abrams' "Natural Supernatural" Romantic allusions!
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