With the past year still in mind,

I kick off the thick fleecy duvet,

and I feel the rush of wind hit my twisted and turned body.

With my distress of mind,

I race out of my bed and the floor feels frosty.

As I look in the mirror,

all my mystifying thoughts gather with worry in my eyes.

Will the forthcoming year be just as dreadful,

Will I have to be bound to this detention cell?

As I approached the bureau,

A calloused object lays upon it.

In one swift motion,

This journal-like book opens, with past affairs.

As I study the engravings of the journal,

A shiver runs down my spine and my heart beat quickens.

As I yearn for a better forthcoming; a better fate.

I hope for a better outgrowth with this poison of a potion still at bound.

For phrontisteries to reopen,

For mortals to not reside in terror,

For humankind to have unity again.

But all will come in due time,

With mankind stronger than the Victorian age,

Because success is failure turned inside out,

Despite all the trials and tribulation.