poetry diary

This ending year compressing all that’s gone before
stops, in the end, quietly, like a mouse reaching home,
and vanishes, suddenly, down the hole. It’s gone
leaving a moment, only, of emptiness suspended.

We face the void.

This New Year will be different. The words unwritten,
and unread, can tell new tales; open new doors, release
promises made before, and stronger dreams. Each dream
hangs above certainties, solid in predictability, and dead.

I’ll take the chance.

There’s been time enough to think. Time enough indeed:
I have talked, consulted and discussed. I know the score;
the best guesses, lost youth and failed promise. Potential
untapped, effort unmade. You had your chance.

I want one more.

Now I know. Shadows at least. How could I be so wrong
before? When the world was an oyster and the fork
poised in hand, without training or love, meaning nothing.
Now I have it all, and must restart. The die is cast.

In with the new.