A New Year's Eve Letter
Dear TwoThousandTwentyFour I stare hard at your door and wonder What will you be like?
Maybe tonight I’m on edge more than in the past because I remember the last presidential election. Would it be okay to play ostrich for a year? Not see or hear news? Or how about you let me sleep oblivious to peep or tweet to red or blue and things untrue to leaders shirking and things not working? Do you suppose it would be fine to just attend to what is mine? I know, I know You’ll probably tell me it’s a fact well known If I want peace, turn off my phone!
A word of advice, a little insight considering events like tornadoes, wildfires, hurricanes or even delayed airplanes And, heaven help us, animals escaping zoos to name only a few consternating troubles from other years. Therefore, TwoThousandTwentyFour, we wouldn’t mind being just a little bored . . .
Scribbling furiously dare I end this poem seriously?
I think of how I love gazing into my loved ones’ faces For this, I remind you, one needs time-measured spaces But oh, on the distant horizon TwoThousandTwentyFour come sounds of saber rattling, rumors of war Nations, peoples, brash and bold all scowling east as long foretold See how they barely restrain their fury as the underworld hurries, hurries, hurries
Where will you shine on history’s timeline TwoThousandTwentyFour I tremble to guess
Oh God, please let this year’s hours, days, and weeks still stem the destined tide of grief
©Ruth Wood 2024