"Midnight" Written By Milena Grubor

The New Year, a jester gaunt and pale,

Grins through its lights like some accursed tale.

Its ornaments, like eyes that leer and gleam,

Mock fragile sparks that vanish in a dream.

The fireworks spit in green and red,

They claw the black, then fold like dead.

Their beauty screams, then dies in smoke,

A fleeting lie, a hollow joke.

The tree stands warped, with crooked spine,

Its tinsel writhes like veins of brine.

The baubles glare with wicked eyes,

A sneer of darkness in disguise.

I drape in black, a shroud of air,

No warmth, no fear, no spark to spare.

The crowd erupts in hollow cheer,

Their laughter grates upon my ear.

Each year I cross another name,

The ledger waits, cold, void, and tame.

No echo stirs, no memory wakes,

Just empty halls the night remakes.

No tears arrive, no pulse betrays,

No fire of joy, no fleeting blaze..

The bells toll slow, the hours crawl,

And nothing answers when I call.

The tree leans close, as if to grin,

Its branches twitch, its roots grow thin.

The fireworks die, the crowd departs,

Yet still it haunts the empty parts.

As the year dissolves to ash and air,

I watch it fade with vacant stare.

I wonder which name time will erase,

Or if the last one left… is mine to face.