Half spent is my tenderness
By this point in the year
Scraped by rough edges, cut on
Sharp corners, petty meanness–
So little of my gentleness
Has survived the onslaught
Of such cruelty for its own sake
Half spent is my hope
I've carried close, collected
Lo, these many years to carry me
Through times of hopelessness like these–
So little of my faith
Remains– in goodness,
Justice, or compassion
Half spent is the night
This Christmas Eve
When I recall the babe of old
born into cruelty, greed, corruption–
So little, that babe, and yet
His birth restores in me
Some tenderness, some hope, some little faith
poem (c) 2025 D. Ohlandt
reprint only in its entirety and with credit given