The New Year

The clock ticks out the passing time.
each moment in its trace.
As I look out for movement
on my creators face.

But the only lines that gather.
that show any trace of time,
are collected in my image,
upon the face that’s mine.

There are lines within creation
sometimes shining, sometimes dim.
That connect us all to heaven
and point to the truth within.

As the Old Year sounds its parting,
and the New Year strikes a pose.
Will we see the lines of progress
or the dimple of repose?