A poem for a New Year that sets sail. One does hope and pray that this year is better than the last.
Ere that new sun inflames the horizon,
fore this eon departs here and now,
I will, at helm of my soul mast mizzen
I resolve never to kneel nor bow.
For I am the keeper of my own gates,
I am He who divines no sweet heaven,
I will thus never to poison the fates
of my fallen dreams in hopes to leaven.
I swear upon all that I question
that I shall strive to spend a life,
host to light, to valor a bastion,
to fall an end and too endless strife.
A day does come, yet a day has left,
with grains of sand my walls do rise,
and as my hands do pray a’cleft
so do the heavens for this suns demise.