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new year's eve
the dying of the
year is but a
calendar cal
culation of
counting our human
days the scale
shutters our view
as we who are mere
specks in a universe
whose laws and space
we only partially see
yet alone know our
two eyes and brain
calibrate the meaning
of our time but our
souls are apprehended
by a mystery we can
neither scan nor
notate the fleeting
and the passing
open up not into
a new year but a
possibility bestowed
and beckoning from
within and beyond
breaking us like
a wave or a dawn
into a form we
never can see or
know it is the
dissolution of all
limits and mere
existence falls
away as we
are taken con
sumed in a
pointless con
summation
© Neil Thompson 2025