The wheel turned, a mesmerizing cascade
of days, years gone by the script reeling
“next year”, a whispered sardonic motto.
Next year, she will find calculated bliss
not at the bottom of a delectable pint
rather in the remorse of a tightened bottom.
Next year, he has unwittingly promised
shiny baubles of exorbitant fantasies
with an air of dedicated romance.
Next year, she will narcissistically capture
the desperate plastic of magazine perfection
nip ‘n’ tuck, needles are her best friend.
Next year, he has faithfully pledged
thoughtless, contrived words of charity
devoted only for a selfish, divine end.
The cacophony of promised change
spins a cycle of unfathomable greed
the consumerism of resolutions unmatched.
The wheel turns, a shift of perception
in time unmeasurable and unforgiving
beyond the cycle we become enlightened.
This turn, we will discover sweet relief
for millions of hopeful, willing stomachs
forgotten in gluttony’s rolling sea.
This turn, we will lovingly devote
sparkingly smiles of time spontaneous
painted with colors of living ardor.
This turn we will joyfully embrace
the untouched beauty of diversity
fulfilled through self-realization.
This turn, we will graciously support
with opened, involved hands of help
intent on the enlightenment of all.
This turn, we will evolve.