Forsworn

Musing on New Year Resolutions

It’s not so easy to resolve,

whatever month in turnabout,

when turn about not guaranteed,

without toes folding under heel.

When freezing keeps my tread in place

what new steps should I undertake?

The ice not melted, resolute,

for now, nor else throughout the year.

When spirit strong but body weak

there’s just no telling, so to speak,

as where my limbs should be in place,

or quiver arrows reach the bull.

So why set target for twelve more,

and join the failures all around -

that hubris boast, induced by proof,

or influence of bubbled glass?

My pain is slight as is the pane

through which I peer at days ahead.

Twenty four hours enough for me

to fail; sworn promises, forsworn.

The only oath, that I can swear,

my words worn loud when I fall down.