It’s just another
day, they say, the people who
Seem to forget
that meaning is a game,
And games are therefore
everything to those
Who live on
meaning more than bread or air.
Let’s face it: we’re
a superstitious breed.
Feel free to
slaughter all the gods you want;
You’ll still find
people praying – to themselves,
The Universe, or very
pretty rocks.
So let’s all have
a new year. We need one.
We need to bury
all the old mistakes,
And start again
afresh, and even though
We’ll likely make
the same mistakes again,
Let’s make them
newly, with a new aplomb.
This world’s a
mess, but we can make it tame,
If only in our
small deluded ways,
If only for a moment,
when champagne,
A falling ball,
and gales of joyful noise,
Make us feel equal
to those gods we slew,
Who after all are
not so very dead,
But live inside
us, in our private hearts,
With hope, delusion,
and bright fresh new years.
