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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Holiday · #2240780
"It was the worst of times... it was the even more worse of times" an Ode to 2020

A year to be forgotten,
... a year that never was;
a list of things, besotten,
such plans reduced to loss

The shortest day, the longest night,
a year drawn to close;
time to think 'neath strings of lights,
time to thank all those

All the ones that kept us sane,
the ones that kept us whole;
it's safe to say its been a strain,
the year has took it's toll

through prologues dark, unwritten starts,
blew in on migrant winds;
unwanted, scorned, unbidden parts.
yet still, the flame begins

Fires blazing... braising hearts,
ill portents, beacons burned;
Bush land scorched, an early start,
the tradgedies we earned

Sifting through the wrongs and rights,
unravelled, we lie prone;
misfortunes shift, they travel light
... and rarely on their own

Viral, on an ill wind's shift,
lost in time, long spent;
locked down tight, through minds we sift,
with letters never sent

to midnight's souls, left out of sight,
to gaze at starless skies;
lacking fortune, boxers fight,
a canvas black... ink dries

In houses green, red roses wilt,
staid, stuck behind the glass;
locked inside, perspectives tilt,
to gardens lush with grass

Greener on the other side,
and leaner with the laws;
tiered for a rougher ride,
and rationed out in fours

Tales scarred in pages, scored,
as spines bent, take the strain;
broken, bound in stages, stored,
found underneath time's stains

Marked, a painful passage, leafed,
a sentence for each sin;
In paragraphs we're ravaged, reaved,
... yet no-one looks within

Within the dusty covers, folds,
ourselves, we have to blame;
afraid to call on other's worlds,
afraid to play their game

with rules in flux... unstable,
as the year they try to frame;
if only we were able,
to see ourselves the same

as others' eyes might witness,
as other minds might dream;
locked down, worried witless,
straining, splitting at the seams

Spilling 'tween the stitches sewn,
it seems taboo, what's sought;
it seems somehow we're on our own,
it seems... somehow we're caught

within an onset winter frost,
we sing of springs that last;
echoes of the seasons lost,
ringing in the past

for ones who didn't make it
... for ones we haven't seen;
the ones whose spirits faded,
with the places where they've been

whilst busy going nowwhere,
lost in endless dreams;
with nightmares running slow there,
we canter to extremes

Running at a gallop,
our minds race round the course;
trotting up the ballot,
papers littered with discourse

deemed just outside our remit,
reluctant to explore;
it's the ones who do not seek it,
that often need it more

Sat beneath a sky of stars,
once vibrant with its glare;
a nighttime sky, light slipped, so sparse
... be thankful you've some there

For some, the night falls darker,
with little light to catch;
hiding where its starker,
afraid to strike the match

A baptism of literal flame,
to frigid winter wakes;
lonely seasons, long refrains,
in hearts and souls, it aches

with flames still, burning, stuttered, old,
a candle burning... lit;
an empty seat at supper, cold,
where someone used to sit

Throbbing, pulsing, steady, slow,
drawing through the tiers
with rainbows at the ready, go!
set to arch next year

to once more ride in windows,
stick where leaders failed, torn;
singing through the winter,
as the Robins hold the dawn

with outcomes ill begotten,
left weary, counting loss;
a year to be forgotten,
... a year that never was
© Copyright 2020 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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