On this cold night, when year gives way to yearWith laughter, horns and drunken revelry;
When “Thank God that year’s gone!” is all you hear,
And frozen smiles of hope are all you see:
Tonight, we are the old year’s derelicts—
Adrift, exposed, begging to be protected—
Till Time, which heals all pain that it inflicts,
Gives us a present where we’ll feel protected.
So we join crowds in which we feel alone,
And in a spotlit canyon of concrete
We search for stronger things than steel or stone
And outcomes where we won’t feel incomplete—
And when Time takes its midnight breath, we pray
For something that will take our breath away.
Copyright 2013 Matthew J Wells