Eve Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Look at all the foolish people,
Keeping their gardens of hope
Cultivated as the looming fresh year
Draws closer in a mad collision.

I am slowly at the verge
Of embracing a new year
With these frail hands.

I remember growing
So tired and starved
To the bone with drunkenness
And avoidance.

The skies are satiated
With a flourish
Of flamboyant and exuberant
Colors from the pyrotechnics

And how terrible it is
That I see myself in one
Of the diminutive explosions:

To give sheer beauty
Just to see myself die.