Must we really oblige ourselves and
If not ourselves, then others.
Should we find a soul more than
A whisper away why the need to feel
Compulsed by inanimate non-importances
To offer a drink to this something new,
Have we not done this same thing before only yesterday.
Tell me, happy new year, what you are and what
You mean and what we mean as we hold
Onto you so mystically.
But if it is something strange, something
Barbarically foreign then why do we so eagerly
Throw away the alchemy we create of the past
For the unwrittens of that yet to come.
I think we tend to disremember the uniqueness of
A moment and that its other half is banality.
There is no new year but that which finds itself
In every second, every minute, every hour.
Save the celebrations for the fools of resolutions as a
Long year is made longer in the palm of failure; and
To amend is truly rare, take note to tread its way with care.