Last Things

This is the year for last things:
The end of old patterns, the cutting of strings
To old mental structures, old prisons.
Time to see the light refracted
Through new prisms.
Time to see new colours, and build
New foundations
With the hands of the skilled.

This is the year for last things:
The year for old selves to die off,
Or sit up on high shelves,
And get dusty. New selves must be
Big and brassy, bold and busty,
Damn sassy!
Kick assy!!

This is the year for last things:
I can’t wait to create next year’s
New songs. Soar up on wide wings
To the heights of what used to be
Just dreams. Maybe suffer
New stings, but let that be
As it may. I come back tougher
From knocks and blows.
It has to be that way
Because that’s the way it goes.