
“At the edge of midnight, time bends between what was and what will be. A golden path stretches forward, carrying the whispers of hope and renewal, inviting us to step boldly into the dawn of a new year.” ~ Chrysi
(A Spoken Word Poem for the New Year)
The earth turns softly beneath our feet,
a quiet revolution, unseen yet unstoppable,
and here we stand—on the brink of something new,
as though the world inhales,
holding its breath for what is to come.
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The stars, those ancient cartographers,
etch the heavens with their patient light,
whispering, Begin again.
The mountains, cloaked in shadow,
lean closer, listening to the pulse of the earth,
its rhythm steady and eternal.
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We are wanderers,
standing in the silence of this sacred threshold,
barefoot and bold,
watching the old year fold itself away,
its crumpled edges tucked beneath the horizon.
And yet, the dawn waits for no one.
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It rises, unshaken,
spilling gold over frostbitten fields,
calling life from the quiet places,
and with it, the questions we carry:
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What will you bring into this new light?
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What will you leave behind?
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Tonight, the clock’s hands move like whispers,
marking moments too fragile to hold.
But the wild things—they know.
The trees stretch their arms to the sky,
their roots deep in the memory of storms,
and they teach us this:
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Growth begins in the unseen.
Strength is born in stillness.
So we, too, must root ourselves
in the fertile soil of our intentions,
in the faith that what we nurture will rise,
like sunflowers turning their faces to warmth.
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The wind moves through the hollows of this hour,
its voice carrying both ache and promise:
Let go.
Let go of the weight of what was.
Let go of the fear of what may be.
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And instead, hold fast to this:
The wild hope that springs from bare ground,
the relentless beauty of beginnings,
the courage to walk forward,
even when the path is uncertain.
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For at the edge of midnight,
when the veil between what is and what will be
is thin as a whisper,
the world invites us to wonder.
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To wander.
To step boldly into the new year,
not as conquerors,
but as pilgrims—
grateful, expectant, alive.
Chrysi

©️2024 Christina Whalen

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