Hours from now, a new dawn will begin.
Some will celebrate such an event,
while some condemn the act as a sin.
Not a religious condemnation, not what I meant.
For their celebration is nothing but their doom.
They think that they are running out of the gloom,
but, unwilled, a gloominess place is their path.
For they, like Agamemnon, felt Apollo’s wrath.
Stricken with plague, all nations are alike.
For a year, fear controlled and prevailed,
and respect did exist for that godly strike.
But with a new year, the plague, once hailed,
Ceased to be feared, masques began to fall,
and back to the remaining life, the masked ball.
Grisly becoming, the furrows we plough,
as our bodies are but the seeds we sow.
What can the new year add to her prior’s work?
Fires, wars, or plagues, O! we have seen them all.
Maybe new plagues, in the darkness, lurk,
or maybe this year but just another of god’s scrawl.
tell me my lord, while I kneel to thee with tears,
do thy lab rats deserve these kind of years?
While our hearts hope for thy saving rays,
Books are set to memorize these gloomy days.