This year was but a spinning top,

back and forth, it'll slowly rock,

until your knees fall to the ground,

it continues to take you around and around.

This year was but a song to be sung,

a melody longng to be quitely hummed,

behind the curtain where none can hear,

a whisper of your crippling fears.

This year was but a broken window,

defaced by a baseball with no where to go,

the shattered glass, jagged on the floor,

it's forgotten what it was fighting for.

This year was but a too-fast clock,

time flies by, and it's such a shock,

that you aren't standing where you were,

this acknowledgement you try to defer.

This new year is but a spinning top,

upon which I will stand and rock,

the swaying motion will not dissuade me,

for with this new year, there will come a new me.