I have to close this chapter in the book,
it doesnt matter how it will read or how it will look,
because even the worst memories get brighter,
as age gets dimmer like a dying lighter,
right meow it will be looked at as a year for hate,
a year to commiserate,
maybe a year to accept the growth in me,
or a time I was most free,
it was a year for love,
or maybe it was just all of the above,
but that's every year I suppose,
just like every poet rhymes,
and has pros,
every year makes me happy,
and every year makes me feel down in the dumps,
its a just a game,
"Of streaks and slumps"
so here's to the next year
of happiness and fear,
love and anger,
thrashing and quiet,
raises up glass to my friends I have and havnt met yet
Lets all make a bet,
to be have good days and bad,
so that next New Years,
there will be something to be a had