arise, my soul; and sing

This is the time of year when I inevitably find myself awash in cliches of fitness and organization and self-discovery. I'm sure that for some people it is reassuring to embrace the "new me" fresh start that a new year can offer, but I see things just a little differently. This year my resolution (for lack of a more appropriate and less cliche term) is to reclaim the old me. I am determined to remember what drives me, what lights the creative spark that used to consume me. I used to write volumes and volumes, late into the night until my fingers cramped and my eyes went blurry. Poetry was an elixir that brought me to life, and I'm hoping it can work its magic at least one more time. For me, 2010 is the year of the pen.

now does our world descend

now does our world descend
the path to nothingness
(cruel now cancels kind;
friends turn to enemies)
therefore lament,my dream
and don a doer's doom

create is now contrive;
imagined,merely know
(freedom:what makes a slave)
therefore,my life,lie down
and more by most endure
all that you never were

hide,poor dishonoured mind
who thought yourself so wise;
and much could understand
concerning no and yes:
if they've become the same
it's time you unbecame

where climbing was and bright
is darkness and to fall
(now wrong's the only right
since brave are cowards all)
therefore despair,my heart
and die into the dirt

but from this endless end
of briefer each our bliss--
where seeing eyes go blind
(where lips forget to kiss)
where everything's nothing
--arise,my soul;and sing

(e.e. cummings)