It is that time of year 
when time seems to both lurch forward 
and stand still at the same time. 
A new year has slipped 
through the door, 
but I don’t have the weapons for war; 
I can’t shake the feeling 
that I’ve been here before. 

Helplessness. 
A planet in turmoil. 
The coalition of the good in retreat, 
seemingly no match 
for the footsteps that swell to a drumbeat 
as they come ever closer. 

This is us. This is our home 
which we don’t even own and yet, 
we are hollowing it out 
even as we shout 
Happy New Year to anyone who cares to listen. 

*****

Meanwhile, 
on the fridge, 
magnets remind me 
of the places I have been. 
Bookmarks in the pages of 2015. 

But the real reminder is ourselves. 
We are the places we have been,
We are the sunrises we have seen,  
We are all the moments we have laughed and cried 
and everything in between. 

What is a life well lived? 
A life that gives; 
that lovingly tends 
to the little flicker of hope 
in the hope that it will burst 
one day into glorious flame. 
A life that loves. 
A life that refuses to be defined 
by ever-present fear. 
A life that says Happy New Year 
and then never stops striving 
to make it so.