The Old Year Poem by Gert Strydom

When I look at the unsettling things
of the old year
I do wonder how the New Year is going to look
and what kind of things it is going to bring?

or is my whole life twisted
through dark forces that do not abate
or is everything settled in the rays of a new sun
that reaches with its heat to the darkest places?

Am I like a leave that falls from a tree
being swept up by a wild wind
that blows wherever it wants,
that at times does fall and rise again,
when lightning bolts do ominous flash
and are bound to the power of destiny
when the last words come over my lips?