The air is crisp;
Last year may resolve
With a gentle smile, or a frown?
The lungs fill deep with another day,
A trillion thoughts, lessons learned,
For my children to gather up,
With youthful eyes of green and blue
Bruised still, from years of an empty cup,
As sure as the warmth in their every breath,
As sure as in winter,
the whole world stills,
As sure as every birth
Is graced by death,
A New year creeps, or a cup that fills?
I flip from the 31st , not too eagerly, to the first.
There’s still that tale
Bubbling up inside,
if not told, will make a writer BURST,
The novelist unrealized, feels taunted,
Like a weary child,
fearful an adult will turn off the light,
Let the slate be cleared at Midnight
Let the words flow free with might,
Let all that is worth sharing
Partner with the dancer that is my soul,
Dig deep for courage revisit the “failed novel”
With the newness of a soft brown foal
After all, these things take time;
Think of the time it takes
to morph a diamond from coal?