Behold, the old has gone and the new has come.
But I still feel the same.
08.
These are our numbers to claim,
Engraved at the ends of our names.
An end and a beginning are etched in our hearts.
The ebb of time cannot weather the carvings
Chiseled by the very hands of God.
Tonight the air is even,
Obstructing none of the galaxies that light our eyes
A glimpse of what He called "good"
Before our souls became dim.
'08 is but 120 minutes old.
Tonight, my prayers will shed their words and fade into
The stage for the first dreams of this year.
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