Unopened. Poem by David Wood

How many Christmas gifts will be cried over as
Being unwanted, not good enough, as useful as
An empty milk bottle.

Leaving behind the heavy atmosphere of an inky
New moon against swirling dark drifting clouds
That have a greater impact because of the moment.

Friendships, or love, is a gift often returned unopened
A large black stone that blots a gentle landscape
Like sudden sounds, such as a squeal of brakes.

Leaving a pause full of pregnant anticipation,
Of failure, of silence and oceanic distance
Where solitaire is the only game in town.

Wondering why or where it all went wrong.
Yet the stars stand alone uncomplaining, they've
Seen it all before for all of millennium.