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