As endless days count down to mark the year,
We wish that all our troubles disappear.
Whatever sorrows gripped us in the past,
We hope and pray that somehow they won’t last.

The wretched souls believe their fate is sealed,
And wait for destiny to be revealed.
They fear the die is cast, their future firm,
And sit beside the grave to wait the worm.

What’s done is done so put the past to bed,
You make your own tomorrow a wise man said.
Spread wide your wings and soar above the sun,
And never quit until the day is won.

The world’s your oyster if you crack the shell,
And make a future only you can tell.
A whitewashed canvas beckons for your brush,
To paint the world ahead as rich and lush.

Don’t paint by number; go and find your muse,
The cornucopia of colors you can choose.
Don’t stay inside the lines that others draw,
You’re free to dream the dream they never saw.

The vista stretched before you knows no bounds,
The possibility of universe astounds.
Remember as this year becomes anew,
The only one to call upon is you.

Copyright © 2019 Jack Thompson

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