Once a year we face the clock with sternest stare
focused on those hands pointing
towards twelve on New Year's Eve.
Mind falls into the swirling vortex
swimming with recollection's swells,
words flow in memory's voice
as we stand at another year's crossroad.
Grabbing the mirror of our lives,
to gaze in retrospective reflection
and ask the most stabbing poignant question,
did we pass beyond our limitations?
One is the number for starting over,
first day of a New Year.
How the calendar pages are written
we can not say for sure,
but it gives a chance to see
a chalkboard in the hours waiting
for writing our future in hope,
holding onto the eraser
that we might wipe away
scribbles from our past mistakes,
making room for new dreams,
in prayer and vow,
tomorrow is a place to walk
with anticipation's footsteps
strolling past the shadows
of our regrets.
Gold trophy winner
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