Only Yesterdays, and Today

I feel too sluggish
for the New Year,

Putting my yester ways
under the scanner,
I seek for
a wee bit of editing

You may point out
this to be the reason
we celebrate
a hope of 'perfectness'.

Yet see, the aged dim
of mellowed noon
have eclipsed my 'imperfections'

I feel too slothful
to put on the light.

Savor the obscureness,
let the umbras lengthen.

Why not make
a life out of
the traveled and the traveling shades?