In the quiet of midnight's deep embrace,
Where resolutions lie in scattered grace,
There’s a whisper, soft yet clear,
Mourning the passing of another year.
"Fuck New Year resolutions," we softly sigh,
In the silence where old promises die.
A carousel of hopes, spun too fast,
Leaving only shadows of dreams that don't last.
Each year, a gallery of unmet vows,
Hangs heavy in the heart, furrows the brows.
We weave these threads, so fragile and sheer,
In the loom of time, year after year.
Underneath the fireworks, in their blazing light,
Lies the truth of our struggles, hidden from sight.
"Fuck New Year resolutions," a silent decree,
For in their wake, lies a sea of melancholy.
In the echo of laughter, there's a subtle pain,
For each resolution, unmet, is a chain.
A reminder of battles, silently fought,
Of the peace and the happiness, earnestly sought.
So, here in the dark, let's whisper the truth,
Of resolutions made in the passion of youth.
"Fuck New Year resolutions," let it be known,
For at the heart of our jest, is a sorrow, alone.
In the quiet of midnight, let's make a new vow,
To live in the moment, the here and now.
For in the end, it's the journey we treasure,
And finding our joy, is the truest measure.
- Aditya Dube
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