Every year this time, it seems,
when hope is at its lowest point,
and demons stalk just out of view
to catch us saddened and fatigued.
They lay us down upon their rack,
taunting while they turn the screws,
reminding us our time is short.
And how much time has slipped away.
They show us scenes of better lives,
reminding us of the bazaar,
existing there for those who dare
look away from cherished dreams.
Remind me of my new-found strength.
Remind me of the hope that lives.
Show me reason to believe.
Show me something;
Or are our hopes and dreams mere mists,
And yesterdays all that we have left?
Is there not a second chance,
where dreams awaken, born anew?