The New Year

I pause today and wonder, 
What is and what feels real:
My thoughts with morning’s coffee?
Or evenings sex appeal?
Or just the moon which hangs at night,
While dominating stars;
Or some lovers at the drive-in
Smooching in their parent’s cars?

Do you think, we’ve lived a life before,
While occupying earth?
Do spirits ever linger,
While they seek their next rebirth?
Did Jesus walk on water, 
Or was his witness drunk on wine;
And like the Shaman on peyote’,
They took it as a sign.

And in the storm with all its thunder,
While seeking shelter for my soul,
I even stop to wonder
Are we half, or always whole?
Are we really made of stardust?
Did we walk out from the sea?
And when I am looking in the mirror
Is it me I really see? 

Do we fall in love by accident,
Or does it come to us as fate?
And if loving is so easy,
Why do we bother learning hate?
Why is it that we all insist
There’s just one way to be?
And why is it that it’s evil,
To eat the apple from the tree?

Hands on the clock, they tell us time
While chimes might ring we’re late;
But truth is, time’s not linear,
So we’re never out the gate.
And the calendar, it marks the months
Reminding us time flies;
But if you stop to think a moment
The calendar tells lies.

It tells us when we’re born each year;
I don’t believe that’s so;
For we’re reborn every second,
With something new we’ve come to know.
It tells us it’s the New Year:
But what does that really mean,
The New Year of my Birthday,
The New Year of my dream?

Living is a mystery;
There is no right or wrong.
And we march to different drummers;
Like we sing a different song:
We come in different colors;
Some hold all the gold;
Some of us are youngsters;
Some of us are old.

And when I see the calendar
On January One?
I toast to all the differences;
Like the moon toasts to its sun.
I’ve learned that every month to pass
Is just a month to live;
And it’s life’s calendar of living,
Sifting memories from its sieve.

I remember life is shorter
Than it feels it needs to be:
But my love, is the continuum,
And sets tides within my sea;
And my dreams, they seem to buoy me
Through the squalls which might arise;
Then like the new-born baby,
I see through new-born eyes.

I see how years flew by me;
And see the years to come;
I make no resolutions,
For my lifetimes are the sum
Of all that I am meant to be, 
And who I might become.
But like the fish from the Pacific 
I drift ashore to feel the sun.

And with these thoughts inside me, 
While I pause to wonder why…
I’ve come to understand the meaning 
“It’s as fresh as morning’s sky”.
You see, every year we walk our path
We race to understand,
That life is all-eternal:
There is no second hand.

So when Father Time arrives this year,
And we recall our Auld Lang Syne,
Be like the new-born fishes:
Slipp’ry in design.
Don’t be caught by man-made bait:
Try not to sail another’s sea;
But look into your mirror–
And make your toast to simply be.

Top photo: Bigstock

About Robin Clark (36 Articles)
Robin, born in Talent Oregon, now resides in Bellevue, a community outside of Seattle Washington. She is a published poet, OP-ED writer and Children's story author. She is currently in partnership with a composer who has asked her to write the book for his next musical. She is also being courted by assorted Directors to write a stage play and her dream is to leave a legacy in words, where you come to realize anything is possible.