beginnings, like endings, bring a certain fear,
because how on earth will things be any different this year?

people speak of hope,
a renewed resolve to cope
– to explore a range
of strategies for change.

the end of this year echoed the last,
as I was visited by the Ghost of New Years Past.

an unpatient patient in a familiar place,
my mind transcending time and space.

I had not slept
in days, but kept
watch carefully,

and that had been my unravelling
in the end, had led to my travelling
unexpectedly to this place of healing.
which left me feeling
my night mapped
out for me
as I struggled to be
in my skin
felt something akin
to defeat.

I’m discovering that endings are not neat,
that there is no such thing as a clean sheet.
life is a mess,
and though I try my best,
the pain in my chest
refuses me rest.

beginnings mean pressure
that I won’t measure
up to, and unlike other folk
I lack that hope.
I have almost no spark
to kindle in the dark.


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