Last Days (Poetry)

The seconds swarm —
gather and thin to long drawn-out strings
looped back and forth across December’s gloom
netting thought —
wings flapping feeble in the twilight of the year —
the air near-silent except for clocks —
Time’s undefeated march invading every space
and resonant with subtle threats of downfall —
slow — so slow and soft —
each tick a tiny death.

Closer the New Year looms —
strong — imposing as a fresh young general
born to lead his troops
the promise of victory — riches — success
Hope’s eternal propaganda
spilling from his lips
tradition leads us — bids us cheer
a welcome to this stranger —
share his power
with a prayer — a spell — a wish.