What others celebrate = a poem of waiting

You might gather,
last night of year,
to celebrate the old one,
and cheer in the next,
but I will abstain,
holding my breath.

Things cannot happen
for me this time,
until others give a little
on their own unreasonable stands
about those left out
of this recovery.

I wait now,
on one last bit
of hope sowed this year
for something to bloom forth
and continue that yearning
to keep trying.

Not much, really,
can sway me now
from the cynic's path walked
after so many damned disappointments.
Still, I have options,
like more writings.

The race begins
with midnight's fall tonight
for which will truly lift
this bum from his fall
and let him build
a small foundation.

Will it be:
The job interviewed for?
Ink turning green from writing?
Or none of these things,
just more bad luck
into those packs?

You might celebrate
but I won't tonight,
for until something gives way
there is naught to enjoy,
zilch to look towards,
and dreams die.

Unless, of course,
I keep racing blindly
into the maze of Society
not knowing what they wish,
save their own security
at my cost.

Today, I write.
Today, I do "work"
that will cover some blues,
but not all of them,
as I wait, impatiently
for better news.

31December2014 - Dyfedd Rex, still being held back by others.