The Last Day
December 31st
The calendar thins to its final page,
a breath held between what was and what waits.
We stand at the threshold, neither sage
nor fool, just witnesses at the gates.
What is a year but invented seams
we stitch across the seamless cloth of time?
Yet here we pause to tally all our dreams,
as if the dying light could make them rhyme.
The sun sets no differently tonight
than any other dusk we failed to see,
but we, who hunger so for bordered sight,
need endings to imagine being free.
Tomorrow asks nothing of us but to wake.
We’ll make it sacred anyway, for our sake.
“Tomorrow asks nothing of us but to wake.”
Wow okay, low bar and somehow still profound.
I love how this side-eyes the calendar while still letting us make a little ceremony out of it.
No grand demands, just consciousness and coffee.
Quietly perfect way to end a year~
Your rhymes are just too good! This is another soft and lovely poem :]