I Will Not Give It Up For The New Year

I've sure given up on giving stuff up      
like all my goodies I'm supposed to quit      
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed,      
       
And I'll grow old and fat, stewed in my cups,      
because giving up things can be the pits      
I've sure given up on giving stuff up...      
       
Like scoffing chocs, dribbling beer as I sup,      
or hoarding tat as if I've sticky mits      
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed,      
       
Or ranting at the neighbour's cheeky pups,      
cos they, like, forever get on my tits      
I've sure given up on giving stuff up,      
       
Like the dog-track where I always get whupped        
teeth gnashing my winning ticket to bits,      
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed      
       
I've quit smoking and for that I'm well chuffed      
And I'm certainly not giving up, it,
But I've sure given up on giving up      
So New Years Resolutions can, just get stuffed!      
       
       
       
 

 
Why should I care for the new year?  
Another cycle of the same celestial dance  
spiraling through familiar constellations.  
Same faces in the same places,    
their conversations a recitation of a well-worn script.  
 
Why should I care for the new year?  
When the clock's hands circle back  
to touch the same numbers they brushed a moment ago.  
And the calendar's pages, thin and brittle  
fall like leaves from the same tree.  
 
Why should I care for the new year...  
When the same hues paint the dawn  
and twilight pulls the same shades over the world.  
Each season a carousel of repeated scenes.  
Eternal recurrence etched in time’s unwavering hands.  
 
Why should I care for the new year?  
When mistakes, like shadows, follow persistently.  
Relentless echoes of human error  
lining the paths we tread.  
Marking our stumbles with the indifference of stone.  
 
Yet, there is a subtle hope in the repetition,  
A whispered promise in the familiar refrain  
that even in the endless cycle  
there is room for small revolutions.  
Tiny shifts in the fabric of the ordinary.  
 
The new year, a canvas reset,  
offers the brush once more,  
to redefine the strokes of our days.  
Maybe the same people, same colors,  
but the hand that moves, wiser, more deliberate.  
 
The new year is a chance not to erase the past  
but to layer over it a tapestry of growth.  
Stitched with the lessons of mistakes  
and the strength of survival.  
 
In the sameness, there lies potential,  
in the repetition, a rhythm.  
A heartbeat that sustains...  
And in the continuation a promise of perseverance.