FIRST WEEK

FIRST WEEK

The First Night celebrations,
That usher in the New Year,
Can seem like exhortations,
Of counterfeit cheer.
Especially when the New Year,
Despite my anguished pleas,
Simply brings more of the same,
More ennui and disease.

But without the din of New Year's Eve,
The calendar has nothing up its sleeve,
Nothing 'til Cupid draws his pesky bow,
In the chill of February with its relentless snow.
New Year's an ending and a false beginning,
Time for reflecting on losing and winning,
And the strange thin line between the two,
How our shared mortality unites both me and you.

And it will soon get better next time around,
Says the learned man in his cap and gown,
Waving his parchment letters.
Oblivious to the homeless sleeping on the ground,
Preaching his gospel, wearing his coat of down,
Looking down on his slaves in fetters.

It will soon get better say the rich to the poor,
You'll die of consumption, oh men of little gumption,
And meet your kind Jesus at the pearly door.
The world will rain prosperity, oh men of little vision,
Everything will be okay, they said so on the television.

I want so to believe them, and really what's my choice?
To drown myself in my own woes and ignore a hopeful voice?
New Year's is nothing at all if not a leap of faith,
So I'll lend my singing to the chorus,
And hope to give it needed weight.
It's a long, long time to Valentine's,
So let your words of hope and faith
Reverberate and mix with mine.

It will soon get better, said the politician to the throng,
Meanwhile learn to fake a smile, be brave, alas, and strong.
And even if his words are lies, perhaps they hide a rare surprise,
So light your candle in the darkness, arise and carry on.

January can be a bitch, 
Winter can be cold and dank,
It would not do to fold our hands,
And watch the world just tank.
So let us all join hands and sing,
Make the most of this New Year's thing.

It will soon get better, there's no way to go but up.
And this strange place on the calendar is nothinig but a hiccup
It would not do to just surrender,
This life is far too sweet and tender.
We've a long, long way to travel, this season can be bleak
So hold on tight with all your might, it's only the first week.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED