THE PASSING

THE PASSING

The passing of the old year,
The dawning of the new,
Always leaves me melancholy,
Always leaves me blue.

Secure within its artifice,
New Year's like a fog it creeps,
Rains confetti and advice,
While the hapless drunkard sleeps.

As I reflect alone upon the dying and the dead,
Yesterday's schemes toss around in my head.
While Times Square and its happy throngs,
Sing their hopeless drinking songs.
Welcoming with cheap champagne,
A new year and its tired refrain.

I've never loved this holiday,
When Santa hits the credit card
With his forceful one, two punch,
Then heads back to the cold North Pole,
And its bitter lonesome crunch.

Leaving us to kill off Christmas,
To trudge alone through January's snows.
A harbinger of what's yet to come,
February and its solemn drum,
The wreckage of its ice floes.
And no more comfort left to give,
To those of us still doomed to live.

The passing of the old year,
Leaves me pining for my yesterdays,
The movement sweet of graceful feet,
That held me in their gentle sway.
The garlands of the Christmas tree,
The heralding the virgin birth,
When threats and epithets laid low,
And peace it soaked the thirsty earth.

The passing of the old year,
Reminds me of the passing time,
I wonder where it all has gone,
The utter mess I've made of mine.
The world it shall live on without me,
Stolid as some sacred stone.
Glad and brave, it shall guard my grave,
When I have made my last trip home.

The passing of the old year,
The dawning of the new,
Always leaves me melancholy,
Always leaves me blue.
So let me weave my own cocoon,
With the rising of the new year's moon.

Anoint my head with cheap champagne,
Let stupor fill my doubtful brain,
Let me glide through winter drugged and numb,
Resist the new year's fife and drums,
Like a flower beneath the earth, soak up winter's crumbs,
And close my eyes, lay down to dream,
And fall asleep 'til springtime comes.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED