Poem for the New Year

Beginnings come with ends embedded.
They lie, subcutaneous, under the skin
of layered comfort, deep within
its lulling folds, undreaded.

They lie unstirred, till the foetid breath
of gnawing, lethal doubt
germinates them to sprout
like grotesque weeds of death.

Fear waters them with a lover’s care.
Under its acid spray, their mottled heads
bloom in rows of bleeding reds:
a poppy field of despair.

Wiser now, I distrust the rosy hues of geneses,
finding surer truth in the surer menaces.
***