What’s that? Who’s there? Who stirs me from my sleep?
What stealthy footsteps wake me from my nap?
A writing prompt you say? Well, closer creep
And tell me more you bold intruding chap.
Oh poetry? Poetic task to try?
Well how can I resist once more the call
And what’s the task? Oh Resolutions, aye,
They’re something over which I often fall.
This year perhaps I’ll choose those I can keep
Should I resolve to always eat my fill?
Or promise that I’ll try to oversleep?
Or that those things I do.. I will do still?
Well this is fun! Bad habits now enshrined
As resolutions – surely I can’t fail!
I’ll be the man I am! But now I find
That this poor jest makes for a meagre tale.
But can I make them? Do I dare to take
A solemn vow to try myself to change?
And run the risk of failing, shallow, fake,
Unable my poor self to rearrange?
The thought unmans me. I have failed before
And countless times have tried, have risked to fly
And dreamed of how above myself I’d soar
Yet but to falter, fall from empty sky
Bah. This began as jest but now it stabs
Reminding me of failed attempts before
These “New Year’s Resolutions” strike like jabs
At my self-worth, my confidence, my core
But shy from the attempt? That way’s not mine,
For now that I’ve begun I’ll run this race
Until I fall, or cross this finish line:
I’ll walk beneath the sun with smiling face.