Dear 2018,

A blank slate, I look upon this table rase,

And wonder what words shall soon appear on the ancient histories of this age.

C’est a-dire une revolution 

Progress, rage, opining banter on the graffitied walls of a frenzied media stage.

What Gods do we serve in this wide forum soon to be tell-taling an unchangeable, penned-in-ink future?

What purpose do we worship in a world filled with so many dangers to body and mind?

Will the terror of flu cut us down in our prime or will

Wellness commit us to serve a lifetime sentence of a thousand well-lived circa-century spans,

As those before us;

All those before us.

Decisions, they say, our ours. 

A beautiful lie to covet.

Morality is our personal brand to elect, as beautiful as a snow flake with its six sides,

Scientifically determined to be only that way.

We are the hope that lingers in the ether.

The every-generation, as every generation before us.

And burgeoning light lies before us on this open road.  

Warmest regards,  

Just one boy, a man; a miniscule fleck in eternity