Words at the End of a Year
This, I think, is the darkest time:
the pause before the grip
of the new year takes hold,
the old one having already let go,
no further will to hang on.
The bright colours of Christmas
are fading, decorations sag limply,
night seemingly out-lasts day
and bedraggled thoughts flock, sad shadows,
just beyond reach of reason.
Words gather round the edges,
hoping to find a way into
the rising year,
ready to attempt a fresh new world
from the sour dregs of the old.
Old lies tell a word was once
a beginning. Life’s initial meme.
Brave beginnings require untied words.
Catch them quickly. They fade
back into the dark
like snow melt into mud,
like the quick promise of dreams
amongst torn wrapping paper,
of a lights-off fumbled love affair.