Poem: January

It’s a queer reliquary, fresh January,
Lush and bright with promise;
It says “come hither,” in an alluring whisper
And I’m unsure if it’s false or honest

It seems a little contrary, young January:
A time of coldness and emptiness perfected,
A land of snow and ice that’s dazzlingly bright
Where warmth is found when least expected

It’s ridiculously merry, jubilant January,
So cold, yet so startlingly clear;
There’s light and hope as plentiful as snow—
More than I’ve tasted in years

It’s more than I can carry, feather-light January,
A thing that seems not burden enough;
After all this time, the lack of weight feels sublime
But it’s not yet something I trust.

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

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