Dwindling are the final nights,
the ebony skies on which you etch
your stark ethereal aura each year,
your superlunary circle of shine.
Mantic god’s eye, you watch us,
enigmatic as we inventory our yesterdays.
as we ponder new beginnings,
as we behold your lustrous crown.
Naked wreath of pallid gleam,
cleansing the lingering indelible ink
we all carry from our enfeebled judgments,
from our institutional callousness.
We never comprehend you.
We only see our plots and perils in you,
Still, in your stable presence,
your dispassionate appearance,
your silver shimmer to which
we ascribe our madness,
odd though it may seem,
we find a new year’s hope.
Copyright © Thomas Wells | Year Posted 2020
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