12:00 am, January FirstWith 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
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Written on 2016-12-29 at 15:13
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