12:00 am, January First

With an arbitrary order, sign of hubris
Of the human race, the clock ticks once
To end a year. The drunken crowd lets out
A cheer. From my place on its outer edge,
I don't detect the slightest change. I see
No reason to resolve to better myself
In some way. What's been bleeds
Into what will be. My heart stays
Weak, my will to live diminishes.
The one I love remains at once nearby
And distant. I refuse to move away.
The clock's tick tells me only that
A year has passed since she was sweet,
A year of sadness now called done,
Replaced by one the same.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 51 times
Written on 2016-12-29 at 15:13

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Yes, that line stands out for me too. I never understood the importance of new year. Just another day really. Suggesting things we know we will never do. You portrayed well the plight of those of us who don't care much.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I also find that phrase so poignant and true: " What's been bleeds
Into what will be."

It's just one day to the next where nothing changes unless you end up with a hangover, which I won't. Every day we might resolve to be better selves, and we accomplish what we can. The next year will carry all the consequences of what was done in the last one. Kind of sad that we can't start new each year. Great poem!

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
I cherish the accuracy of "What's been bleeds/ Into what will be." Yes, the expectation that a numerical change in the calendar will bring about some sort of internal radical change in a person seems a bit odd. You have given us a poem that is simultaneously toughminded and poignant. Thank you.