This seems a little too relevant with the New Year right behind us.
This sounds like my kind of resolution.
Typewriter Series #1741
— Tyler Knott Gregson
I will not offer promises, for life spills and stains
the intent from time to time; I will not offer guarantees.
I will not speak of resolutions,
of all that needs fixing, in all that I am.
I will not speak of where we went wrong, what we broke,
what we did not scream loudly enough for, or against.
I will not speak of the misdoings, I will not speak ill
of those that were filled with ill will. I will say this,
of the year that is to come, and I will mean the words I say:
I will be more. I will be louder for truth and I will not abide
the evil of indifference or apathy. I will lend my voice
to those who cannot find theirs, or do not know the ways
to speak loudly enough for the causes they believe in. I will
leak gentleness and compassion when stabbed by the harsh
and tender-lacking; I will bleed beautiful and honest blood
for all that deserves it. I will watch as these hands
hold more, and push away less, as they soothe the aches,
skin buried or soul wearied, they find in people. This
will be a year of defiant regeneration and immaculate creativity.
A year of letting loose the tightly wound in me,
the delicate uncoiling of things long ensnarled around
this quietly beating heart. I will be more, and I will strive
for nothing short of illumination; the bright shining of light
into the darker spots in me, but more, I will strive
to shine that light onto everyone who feels theirs has gone
out, all those that forget the stunning shine of their own
Come now hours, come days and months, come and
settle the storm we’ve been enduring. Come.
and with you bring
Until next time,