The Parting Year

Life passes on before us more rudely discreet,

Likely than not, at odds with the foes we meet,

In Godless adolescence, we mortals are deceased,

Everyone dressed up for the sleep, which released

The meddling blackouts, step out for a good time,

But the mourn never misses, endless places to find,

Have words already inscribe, prepare for the tomb,

Waited until evening close, to court its dirge of gloom.

And shed tears that would have made life smooth,

The parting year, sweeping aside the clattering cloth.

Move on relentless, edging over into the cold black air,

Unsure about the vestiges of pleasure, that will stir

Romanticism, legacy leaves, figures like twiggy trees.

We go upon bending knees, till all the fussing ceases.