this shall be:

this shall be
my last poem of the year,
two thousand and thirteen,
with the muses' permission.

a fitting one as well,
for the words,
come easy,
like so many did this
annus mirabilis, year of wonders.

firm I believe,
words are living tools,
constantly being reshaped,
fitted to the occasion.  

care must me taken,
words hurt when wasted, abused,
or used in contravention to the creator's
intentioned purpose of intended good.

so when a brother, a poet-man
hits the nailhead, words writ,
encapsulating an emo shared,
this reserves, a poem-celebration!

lines between humans unseen,
somehow too easy, rightly crossed,
guards dropped, secrets exposure,
with the ease of feeling no discomfiture.

yes, this is the Internet age,
sharing revelations often cheapened,
boundaries collapse,
when no consideration given.

when there is no skin, no eye-glance
real-exchanged, no feeling, no voice,
casual, to do, easy to say,
what is the risk,
what could be the casualty
of this causality?

the risk is fearsome.

so when the venture is for the better,
what matter the absence of the physicality,
the tears and hugs imagined
as good as any non-virtual,
but in the coming year,
this I swear:

I will be, I will be becoming, I will become you,
unto you, for as was written, so shall it be,
for as was written, it will become,
a beautiful first, a first re-union,
that will be.

this notion so pleasing,
yet inherent contradictory,
aye, there's the rub,
a first re-union of the unmet,
to mark this three hundred and sixty fifth day,
the creator bequeathed me these prayer words
most easily, most faithfully,
as a blessing for all of us.


Dec. 31, 2013
3:54 pm.
NYC