Every year I go to the attic and pull out
a huge box that forms a brown square.
The box smells of pine, and peppermint,
and filled with Christmas lights in red,
green, white and yellow.
On the very bottom of the box is something
I made by my own hands when I was five,
I pulled out the star that formed a pentagram,
with five knife sharp points. I was as happy
as a lark none were broken. It was so quiet
I could of heard a pin drop as I hold this
treasure made years ago in my man size hands.
A Christmas tree is not a Christmas tree
without its star. It hue was the color of
the sun, and a guiding light, and a symbol
As I turned the star in my hands it reminded me
of the ideal man. It was the sign of a Great
master, who could lead many. And for a child, the
magic of Christmas. That is not just about food,
and presents, and a man in a red suit.
It about love, that started the day three wise men
followed the star to a Manger.