Look at all the foolish people,
Keeping their gardens of hope
Cultivated as the looming fresh year
Draws closer in a mad collision.
I am slowly at the verge
Of embracing a new year
With these frail hands.
I remember growing
So tired and starved
To the bone with drunkenness
And avoidance.
The skies are satiated
With a flourish
Of flamboyant and exuberant
Colors from the pyrotechnics
And how terrible it is
That I see myself in one
Of the diminutive explosions:
To give sheer beauty
Just to see myself die.
Windsor Guadalupe Jr
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eve-28/
