Another year runs my way on December street,
On a grumpy day where the snow escapes from the
Cloudy sky. He bumped into me, hard like a boulder,
As Strong as an ox, as quick as a cheetah.
I asked him why he was in such a rush to be born,
And he replied that the time is coming soon and
He wanted to live his time until time evaporates..
He then picked his belongings and disappeared,
Like the grass upon misty fields and marshes.
I wanted to know more about the time here,
But he was no where to be spotted or found.
As I approached January grove, I was found
Drunk in the taverns of south London.
I swallowed and gulped pints, one by one,
Time after time, lager after lager.
The year had been as rough as my sleeping
Pattern, and as dull as the British weather.
Work was relentlessly goading like a constant
Dripping sound. The stress of family life
Has conquered the battalion that once owned the
Lands of my brain.
I was never judged by the bartender, and never
Ridiculed by the pint of pilsener, the pint of relief.
The tavern is a second home where life is a drink
And a laugh.
As I sat with my pint in the sweet tavern, I was
Approached by the new year, and he was
Disappointed with everything around him.
Youths were scarring their lungs with special
Herbs, working class men were drinking their wages,
Young innocent girls were sacrificing their virginity
Like a new year's resolution.
I told him that the 31st door on every December street,
Is known for this type of celebrations.
I was silenced by his pause and he walked off,
Without speaking, only feeling sad and angry like
The north and Irish sea.
I had a feeling that this was going to be a bad year,
As the rain poured, and the sun ran away into
The forest of clouds. The stress lived in my mind again
And replaced it's tent with a house fit for a family
Of little stresslins.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
The creativity and personification of the new year is ingenious, and makes for very enjoyable reading. I loved “stresslins”! 
