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Resolution
by Richard VinceDecember is full, but January is empty:
All disappears beneath the shifting sands
Of rash resolutions, to resurface only
Furtively.
There are times, and there are places, but
This is neither. Only two hours in, and
Already both are wrong. Alas, this is still
How I open my mind to what it keeps
In its secret places.
It seems it will confide only in me;
It keeps its counsel when anyone else
Is present, lest they hear its silent words
As waves, half imagined, in their minds’ ears.
At times like these, though, when I take
Myself away, when I retreat, momentarily,
From life, my words become scrawl and
The two parts of me, December and January,
Align at last.
01/01/2016 Posted on 02/10/2016
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/12/16 at 04:42 PM wonderfully expressed. |
| Posted by Anita Mac on 02/15/16 at 03:55 AM I'll be thinking on this one a long time. December and January... And apt metaphor for you, I feel. |
| Posted by Rob Littler on 02/15/16 at 05:51 PM ...and the past comes rushing in to meet the future like a wave, like a missing part yearning to be known, "we carry with us what we are" whispers a voice...the resolution is the shadow cast, meant to be a marker of the action, repeated, the behavior made (or not)...all this leaving me with an image of my corpus callosum forming, rushing the two lobes together like magnets pounding, so as to form as one. |
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