Another chance to be what we are not.
Praised be those who recognize the rot,
Portion out the guilt, and go on living.
Years change far more frequently than we,
Nor are our changes more than painted screens,
Each placed to maximize our meager means,
Windows on a world that none can see.
Yet, truth be told, we know well what's within.
Each resolution fails to touch the heart,
As in the end we are, as at the start,
Remorseful reprobates, half hope, half sin.