When The Time Is Right Poem by Mark Heathcote

When the time is right

Everywhere, I go there are people shuffling toe to toe?
till they're harboured without a sail, with nowhere to go,
standing in doorways decorated with holly and ivy and Mistletoe.

Incense burning and leaflet-hucksters spouting 'Jesus'
telling me if you don't give or take a leaflet, you're going to hell.
While internally, I'm planning the funeral of my own first-born child.

The Devil, he visits me.
He visits my veil of tears, my crown of blooded thorns,
he twists a sword just inside my ribcage to see if I will join not her
but I have promised her; we'll meet when the time is right.

It won't be this or any other Christmas night soon,
it'll be after this winter of despair lifts its gloom,
and that won't be any day soon...