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The Closing Year
I saw its crooked shadow
dragging its mind along like a leashed dog.
It went out and came back in
fretting over its own begrudging existence.
This morning it peers out of a window,
looking to see if anything has changed -
nothing has.
I know it will be up all night
wondering where its days went,
where the lost and lingering hours
slipped between the cracks,
of one dawn after another.
It will be shutting a door on itself soon,
when I am on the other side
I will nail that door shut,
then walk undaunted.
into the timeless light,
with no regrets, and not even
a single afterthought.
Let the dead bury the dead.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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