Foraging for inner bliss
Is a thankless
Tiresome task

Lunging for the fleeting joys
Of a common and restless curse
Reigning yearly at the helm
Of each fresh-faced mystic year

Tranquility eludes
The ceaseless pace of thoughts
Peppering my body with anxiousness
Demobilized, for the coming struggle

Hours I strain
For soothing words
Bright and clever quips
To carry me through
The harmony of kin

Yuletide hushes me
As reverent memories prevail
Steering my bones
For the obscurity of shadow
Where I ponder and heave
With panic coursing free

What do they expect of me?
At the close of a wasted time
Days spent musing
For a hopeless and empty cause

Perhaps, next year
Shall be my jubilant prime
To be sworn in slow
And dispatched thoughtless and swift