Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #173
The New Year
by Belinda Roddie
The new year is always supposed to be
a celebration, as we start anew,
but the new year won't mean that much to me,
since I will be starting it without you.
The arguments began in August, and
in September, the accusations flew,
so many questions about where we'd been,
whom we'd been with, each little rendezvous
a threat to us. In November, you left
with one suitcase and a short letter. I
was left with nothing valuable, bereft
of love, of happiness. As days go by,
I am exhausted. The new year does not
mean much to me as I sit here and rot.
by Belinda Roddie
The new year is always supposed to be
a celebration, as we start anew,
but the new year won't mean that much to me,
since I will be starting it without you.
The arguments began in August, and
in September, the accusations flew,
so many questions about where we'd been,
whom we'd been with, each little rendezvous
a threat to us. In November, you left
with one suitcase and a short letter. I
was left with nothing valuable, bereft
of love, of happiness. As days go by,
I am exhausted. The new year does not
mean much to me as I sit here and rot.
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